A Tiny Problem
by reflectiveless
Summary: In one of Sherlock's many experiments, John is accidentally shrunken to 12 centimeters. Sherlock is having a hard time hiding his miniature flatmate and keep him safe as the pair start discovering their feelings for one another. A case involving the serial killing of lesbians that bare a striking resemblance to John's sister isn't helping. Lots of cute, good measure of angst.
1. Twelve Centimeters

Edited by softpurplesherlokian

Pocket John

A Tiny Problem

Chapter 1

"Tweleve Centimeters"

It was just past midnight when John decided to turn the telly off and bid his flatmate goodnight. Sherlock often stayed up into the wee hours of the evening working on various experiments, John gave up learning what they all were. He didn't mind so long as Sherlock didn't blow anything up, although the body parts in the fridge often enraged him as well.

"Oh, John, before you go, tomorrow morning I'm going to see Lestrade about a new case. Care to join me?"

"Sure, I have the day off tomorrow anyway." John had taken every opportunity he could to follow Sherlock around as he sleuthed; his deduction skills had fascinated John to the core. "What is it you're doing by the way?" John looked at the kitchen table covered in various tubes and beakers containing odd colored liquids.

"Just experimenting."

"I see." John had picked up a small beaker with a clear blue liquid in it, it seemed harmless enough but if Sherlock was involved it likely wasn't.

"Do be careful with that." Sherlock said in his baritone voice without looking up at him.

John went to place the beaker back where it had been when Sherlock suddenly jolted up pushing the table away from him. John lost his grip as the table hit his still partially limping leg sending him into a fit of pain. The beaker shattered on the table as John instinctively grabbed the edge to balance himself, cutting his hand on a glass shard.

"My god, did you see it?" Sherlock's voice had an unusual tone to it.

"What? No, bloody hell Sherlock-"

"It was massive! The biggest rat I have ever seen right at my feet!" Sherlock crouched to the floor to see where it had gone to no avail. "John? You alright?"

"Shite, no, I've broken that damn beaker and sliced my hand up."

"Let me see." Sherlock approached him abruptly and grabbed his hand. "Won't need stitches, you should go wash and bandage it though."

"I do have medical training you know." The doctor was a tad annoyed with his flatmate at his remark.

Sherlock turned around to continue his experiment but stopped in his tracks before facing John again, his expression completely changed but near impossible to read. "Which beaker did you break?"

"Well to be fair you jumped up with no warning."

"JOHN! Which beaker!?" John could tell know that Sherlock was indeed mad.

"A small one, clear blue liquid inside."

At that Sherlock's eyes jolted to the table making sure it really was the beaker John said it was. He then grabbed his flatmate's hand once more. "Wash and bandage it now."

Something in Sherlock's tone frightened John, "Alright, alright, I'm doing it."

Sherlock could hear John in the other room as he treated the cut, he sat quietly staring at his laboratory equipment, his mind raced.

_'It was just a cut, it's not like he drank it.'_ Sherlock thought to reassure himself, but somehow that didn't make his worry disappear. '_Well, there's no point in telling John until I know for sure if there will be any affects.'_

John woke to a loud booming noise. '_The devil is that racket?'_

"Sherlock?" there was no response.

He rubbed his eyes before realizing his surroundings had completely changed, or so he thought. Instead of his bed, John was laying on a massive white surface covered in an equally huge sheet. It was as if he had been kidnapped in the night and placed on the world's largest bed. The booming sound continued. John looked up, seeing his situation was growing dimmer. Furniture the size of skyscrapers lined what looked to be walls millions of kilometers high. Even Moriarty couldn't pull off something like that.

"John!" Sherlock's voice seemed impossibly loud.

John turned to see over a mountain of blanket-looking fabric, and there stood Sherlock, too large to even fathom.

"I'm….I'm dreaming." John was uncertain.

"Damn, I was afraid of this."

"W-what? What's going on? Why are you so big?"

Sherlock looked down with what looked like guilt on his face. "John I… I'm very sorry about this. I did tell you to be careful with that beaker."

John lost his balance falling back onto the bed. "What are you saying?"

"Well, It appears some of the liquid from the beaker got into the cut on your hand last night."

It was starting to sink in what Sherlock was saying, "My god! You've shrunk me?!"

"It would appear so. Oh, and also you're naked if you weren't already aware."

"a- damn you!"

"I'll be back in a moment." Sherlock had left the room and from a loud bang further away it sounded as if he had left the apartment too.

John was left to his thoughts on an empty stomach and no clothes. Luckily it was only twenty minutes before the detective came back. By then John was wrapped in a blanket due to his lack of clothing.

"John, you wont believe this, it's astonishing really, but there is an incredibly impressive doll maker just two blocks away from here. John? You don't seem impressed."

"Can you fix me already?"

"Fix? Oh, you mean make you big again."

"Yes, some sort of antidote."

"Well John, I never thought that liquid would get into your system. There uh… there's no antidote. Not yet at least."

John's heart plummeted. "I'm stuck like this?!"

"For the moment, yes. Oh, but this doll maker, he's just incredible!"

"Sherlock! Stay focused!"

"I brought you this for now, I'll take you there later for something more fitting if you like. I don't know your um, current measurements." Sherlock placed a miniature outfit on the bed next to John. It looked like real clothing but made for doll. John quickly slipped into, already feeling much more comfortable that he at least had some dignity left. It was just simple brown pants and a dark green shirt.

Sherlock had been avoiding fully looking at John until now, he knew his tiny flatmate would be enraged if he stared at him while he was in the buff. But now he crouched down with his face level to the bed.

"You're so small John!" A light smile began to fill Sherlock's face.

"Please find an antidote Sherlock." John's voice was filled with worry.

"I'm working on it. Not sure when I can figure it out though." Sherlock put his hand palm up next to John.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a ride to the kitchen."

John groaned but climbed into Sherlock's palm anyway, terrified that the detective would drop him. Sherlock was surprisingly gentle with John though, partially cupping his other hand over John's head for added protection. He placed John on the now empty kitchen table, then turned to the stove to make single fried egg.

As the egg fried, Sherlock brought over a measuring stick and propped it up next to a rather annoyed John.

"Very funny." Sherlock noticed John's voice in this state was much smaller then before. He could only hear him well when he was close to him.

"You're twelve centimeters tall if you were wondering."

John crossed his arms and gave Sherlock a stern look. But at twelve centimeters he hardly looked threatening.

Sherlock brought the egg over, cutting off a small piece for John, which was very large for him by comparison. Sherlock ate the rest, never being one for a big appetite.

"You have to eat more then that Sherlock."

"I'm on a case, you know I don't think when I'm eating." He put his hand on the table palm up.

John had already figured out this was the sign that Sherlock was moving and wanted to take John with him. "Where are we going?"

"I told you last night, I have a case I'm going to go ask Lestrade about."

"'Lock, you couldn't possibly think that-" John was cut off by a knock on their door.

Sherlock looked down at his miniature friend and scooped him up, "Hide." Sherlock placed him on the mantle. John scurried inside of the skull.

"Lestrade! I was just coming over."

"You're pretty late you know, you're never late when I have a case for you." Lestrade had a slightly confused face.

"Oh yes, well, I had some unexpected errands this morning."

"I see, well, I have a cab downstairs of you want to come to the crime scene with me. Where's John?" Lestrade had stepped past Holmes and into the flat expecting to see John sitting in the living room.

_'Shit, Sherlock, don't tell him!'_ John prayed to himself.

"He's a bit under the weather today." Sherlock grinned to himself '_under everything in fact'_

As Lestrade's eyes scanned the room John ducked his head behind the skull. The slight movement caught Lestrade's attention though.

"So about this case-"

"Hold on a moment, I thought I saw…" Lestrade stride towards the skull as John cowered behind it. He considered running for it if the skull was lifted, but when Lestrade picked it up, John was froze stiff. The DI's eyes widened tremendously. "John!?"

"…and by under the weather I mean shrunk." Sherlock muttered seeing Lestrade discovered their secret.

"John?" He said again with out looking away. "This can't be real." He placed the skull back down and clumsily scooped up John in his hands.

"Careful!" John didn't want anyone to know this had happened to him, but it was especially frustrating that he was tossed all over the place.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell did you do to him!?"

"What? Why do you assume this is my fault? Granted you're very technically right, but still!" Sherlock quickly came over, taking John out of Lestrade's clumsy hands. "And be careful with him."

John felt strangely safer in Sherlock's hands, but grabbed his thumb for support anyway.

"He had an accident with a chemical is all, I'm working on an antidote." Sherlock placed John on an end table and proceeded to look John all over for any injuries caused by Lestrade.

"I'm fine Sherlock."

Sherlock was now fascinated about every aspect of John, he was just so unbelievably small. His actions and expressions so fragile. Sherlock felt his face warming and turned away.

"Are you ready to go to the crime scene now John?"

_'Did Sherlock just blush?'_ John had caught the faint red of his friend's face before he looked away. "You can't be serious. Sherlock, people can't see me like this."

"You'll just be in my pocket John, besides, I don't think it's safe to leave you here alone." Sherlock began calculating all the potentially dangerous scenarios that could befall the miniature John.

John still didn't want to go, but the idea of being trapped on the table all day with no food and nothing to do was unbearable.

"Oh all right."

"You're kidding. You're gonna take him to a crime scene like that?" Lestrade was clearly still in shock.

"Lestrade, I swear I will never solve another case for you again if you tell a single soul about this." Sherlock lifted John up, carefully placing him in his breast pocket.

It was very warm and cozy in the detective's pocket and when John leaned his weight against Sherlock's chest he could hear the thumping of his heart. The taxi ride to the crime scene was filled with Lestrade's questions to Sherlock over what he had planned to do with John.

"People will notice he isn't around for a while wont they? Especially Mrs. Hudson, she'll notice for sure."

"Lestrade, you are an atrocious headache at times."

Sherlock would occasionally flip open the flap on his pocket and peer down at the sitting John to make sure he was okay. The new way in which Sherlock would look at John started to ease how he felt about being so small.

* * *

A/N: This is the brit picked update. The original version was not based on the Metric system and John's height was 5 inches- the height change has caused me to re write several scenes in the story.


	2. People Will Talk

Chapter 2

"People Will Talk"

John had always been considered a 'short' man. It was a cruel trick of fate that he had been tall as a kid, only to never grow another centimeter. Harry had mocked him repeatedly for that and truthfully it might have been a factor when he decided to join the army. John was glad at least that his taller sister didn't see him now, nodding off to sleep in a man's pocket.

"John, John! Wake up, we're here." Sherlock whispered into his coat pocket.

"Really Sherlock, you shouldn't be talking to your pocket at a crime scene." Lestrade didn't normally linger around the man as he worked, but he also wasn't sure he could trust him out in public with someone in his pocket. Donovan bugged him enough about Sherlock's questionable sanity as is. Talking to himself certainly wouldn't make the situation any better.

John let out a small yawn, "We're at the crime scene?" He stretched and peeked over the top of Sherlock's pocket, the top flap helped conceal him even when looking out. They were in an empty night club, sunlight dripping in through glass panels on the ceiling unevenly lighting the room in eye burning lights and shadows.

"Serial killer, this wasn't his first time." Sherlock kneeled near a scantily clad woman whose body was awkwardly leaning half against the wall and drooping to the floor. She had medium blond hair that went just past her shoulders, eyes frozen open looking into darkness.

John gulped nervously, the woman looked too familiar to him.

"Why are the bodies so far apart?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

"They died a minute apart on different sides of the room. The crowds went into a panic after that and ran out." Lestrade noticed Anderson and Donovan just outside the roped off area of the dance floor.

"They have nothing in common other then both being female. This one here was a college student, the other one a real estate agent."

"What? How did you know- well, they were also both lesbians."

"Were they?" Sherlock seemed puzzled for a moment. "You already contacted the families then?"

"Well, I mean this is a lesbian bar after all."

That fact had eluded Sherlock until this moment. "Oh." He could hear a faint snickering from his coat pocket.

"John, what do you think?"

"Well Lestrade is right, this is a lesbian bar. I recognize the unusual architecture from the background of some of Harry's photographs." He stood on his toes to get a better look over the pocket. "Scratches? ' Lock, do see that scratch on her wrist?"

Sherlock outwardly abhorred being called ''Lock', but secretly smiled to himself whenever John did.

"Could be a cat."

"I don't think so, it seems too fresh, like it was inflicted just before death, its also deeper then a cat's scratch."

Sherlock scowled, how could John know something he didn't? Of course he never touched a cat in his life let alone be scratched by one, but that was beside the point.

"Possibly."

"Go see if the other body has a scratch too."

The second body was sitting down, torso laid across a table. Her raven black hair hung in curls twisting down her back, her wrist dangled at her side with three brightly colored bracelets on it, and beneath them was another deep scratch.

"Poisoned. The killer must have had a sharp objected dipped in very potent poison, spied their targets- or it was a random killing, and scratched them with it. The poison was relatively fast acting, but still gave the perp enough time to get away unnoticed."

"Oh look, the freak showed up alone today. Couldn't get your dog to follow?" Donovan walked over with the sole purpose to mock Sherlock.

'_Dog_?' John pondered on Donovan's phrase as he dipped back into Sherlock's pocket.

"Ah, Donovan, still mopping Anderson's floors? I'll double his price to have you wash mine." Sherlock grinned.

"In your dreams freak."

"Probably didn't show up because of his _sister_." Anderson stood a few feet away and had placed a particular emphasis on the 'sister.'

"I would reconsider what you are implying unless you'd like to be punched in the face." Sherlock straightened his back.

"Anderson, I will suspend you if you ever say something like that again," Lestrade shot him a look.

Sherlock side stepped the two, taking Lestrade by the shoulder. "Previous victims?"

"Possibly one last week, similar death, she was found in an ally. We thought it was an isolated incident before this."

"And her orientation?"

Lestrade shot Anderson another glare, "Lesbian."

"I see, so this is a pattern then, not just a location factor. John? Are you okay?"

John had accidentally punched Sherlock in a moment of rage, forgetting the fabric wall was Sherlock, who had barely felt it.

"Holmes, not here, really." Lestrade hoped no one had heard the detective.

"Well, I've done all I can do here. I'll be off."

"You haven't done a thing, freak." Donovan called after Sherlock as he strutted out.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the police lab going through evidence from the scene.

"I'm sorry about Lestrade finding out." his voice was muffled; it always was when he apologized.

John sat on a stack of glass slides eating a muffin crumb, "It's alright I suppose, so long as no one else finds out." John was quiet for a moment unaware that Sherlock's face was level with the table he was on simply staring at him. "That girl today… the blond one. She looked too much like my sister."

Sherlock frowned at that, he had never met Harry, but based on things John had previously told him about 'sentiment' he deduced this resemblance between John's sister and the dead woman at the club somehow made John sad.

"You think the erm, serial killer? You think he is killing lesbians?"

"It should appear to be that way, yes."

"Do you think you could, uh, text her for me? Ask if she is okay I mean."

"I thought you didn't get on with her."

"She drinks a lot, especially after Clara left her. But I still worry about her."

Sherlock nodded, in a way John's relationship with his sister reminded him of Mycroft. He had brought John's phone with him, thinking it might come in handy, he clicked on Harry's name bringing up the last conversation via text that they had.

Don't worry about your wife, I love you Harry- JW

I love you too. -HW

At that moment the large metal door leading into the room had opened. Sherlock instinctively dropped the phone and cupped his hand over John to hide him.

"Oh Sherlock! I didn't know you where in here, I didn't mean to surprise you." She had noticed his sudden action in dropping the phone as she came in. "Mind if I use the microscope?" Before letting Sherlock answer she had moved very close to him. Her eyes naturally gazed down as the cell phone; the screen was still lit up with the conversation on it.

Molly accidentally let out a gasp when she read what it said. "Sorry… I uh, I didn't mean to look." Her face was completely flush as she turned to the microscope fumbling with a slide she was putting in.

"What? Look at what? Oh! The phone?" he was overly nonchalant.

"Yes, erm, it's none of my business."

It was one of the very rare occasions Sherlock laughed, "This is John's phone, not mine."

Molly was speechless for a moment. "I uh, didn't know." _Why is John texting a married man that he loves him?_

Joan groaned, thinking it was too soft to hear.

"What was that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

Molly was visibly flustered by the strange way Sherlock was acting, he was always strange of course so she tried to brush it off. Then it hit her. Sherlock looked as if he was sitting at the table doing nothing. He didn't have his eyes closed with a strained expression, so he wasn't thinking deeply about anything, but whenever he wasn't thinking he was certainly always busy.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm fine."

John lay flat on his stomach praying there would soon be a way out.

"What's that? Under your hand?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"I know there are rumors, about you I mean, and what you do."

Sherlock's mind spun, he hadn't an idea what she meant by that.

"Drugs?" It was more a question then a statement.

John had mixed feelings, he didn't want to be revealed but he hated that Molly would think Sherlock was hiding drugs now. Even if Sherlock didn't care about what people thought of him, John did.

"Molly- you should leave now." His expression was stone cold.

She looked as though she might just walk away at first, but she stayed. "No Sherlock- I can't let you do this. I don't want to see you get hurt."

He sent her a seething glare.

"I promised Lestrade… I told him I would tell him if I ever found you with drugs." Her eyes began to water, she knew she wouldn't tell Lestrade about this, but she had also hoped she would never find Sherlock with anything.

John could hear the emotion in her voice. He about to reveal himself when Molly decided it was just too much.

"I'm sorry" she got quickly before pushing Sherlock's hand away from the table. He had been cupping it so lightly over John that the force from Molly's hand easily disrupted his own, sending John flying off the table.

"John!" Sherlock jolted in the direction of his flatmate catching him as he fell off the edge.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I really just can't let you-" She stopped mid sentence.

"Out of my way!" Sherlock stood up with great force putting John back on the table and brought out his pocket magnifying glass searching the small man all over for any possible injury. "If he's hurt in any way you'll never hear the end of it."

John flashed bright red "I'm fine, really, I am." he looked down at the table and rubbed the back of his head. He was glad Sherlock saved his life, but the way he treated him now was beginning to get over board. He felt like a prized jewel.

Molly shrieked as she finally caught a glimpse of John.

"Do shut up. You nearly killed him and now you are going to deafen him."

Molly got her face as close to John as Sherlock did. John was hating his new found attention.

"Oh my god, John, I'm so sorry! I'm so very sorry! I had no idea! What on earth happened to you?"

"Oh you know me, always been on the short side." John nervously laughed.

Molly's eyes rolled back and she fell over. "She's fainted."

Sherlock propped her up in one of the chairs before continuing studying the evidence. Twenty minutes later her eyelids began to flutter open.

"Sherlock! She's waking up." John stood at the edge of the table watching Molly. He wanted Sherlock to do more to make sure she was okay, but he insisted she would be fine.

"You passed out, are you okay?"

"John!? What did he do to you?"

"Why do you people assume this is my fault?" Sherlock leaned back away from the files on the table.

"It was just a lab accident is all. I should be fine… soon." John was unsure of the last part.

Saying he would be fine soon relieved Molly a bit though. She leaned closer to him. "He's just so small!"

Sherlock beamed. "Twelve centimeters!"

John could swear Sherlock was actually enjoying this.

"Oh don't pout John. And Molly, obviously don't tell anyone about this as John is very sensitive on the topic."

"Sherlock!"

"You see what I mean?"


	3. Emphasis on Small

Chapter 3

"Emphasis on _Small"_

John was completely drained on the way home that night. He softly mumbled through Sherlock's pocket as they ascended the stairs to their flat.

"Lestrade and Molly know… don't you dare let anyone else find out." His voice trailed off.

"Oh hush, they both promised to help keep this a secret, and you know that people will be asking me where you've been." Sherlock lifted the tiny doctor out of his pocket.

It was only 11pm but John had over exerted himself mentally today. "Could you put me on the bed?"

"Don't be ridiculous John, you're much too small. I would never find you again." Sherlock had carried him into his own bedroom and swiftly took his scarf off placing it on an end table. "There, that should do for now."

John wanted to protest being placed on Sherlock's scarf, he wore it every day and never washed it, the sanitation level was not up to par for him. But as soon as the detective placed him on top and his weight was easily supported by the posh material, he decided against complaining.

"Comfortable?" Sherlock smiled, John wasn't sure if it was meant to be sarcastic or not.

"Erm, yes." The scarf surrounded the doctor and smelled heavily of Sherlock's after-shave and smoke. He found it oddly relaxing. "Thank you."

"Any time John." The detective flicked the light off and left to experiment in the kitchen.

Hours passed and the doctor found himself back in Afghanistan, bullets ripping by him. He was in uniform and brandishing a large rifle. Someone screamed behind him in pain, not a high pitched movie scream, the deep throaty cry of a man injured beyond repair. Corporal Williams to his right fell wordlessly, never to stand again. To his left a dark figure came into vision, the enemy.

"Hit the deck!"

John jolted upright in the darkened room tucked into the midnight blue scarf. A cold sweat ran down his face. His hands instinctively ran through his hair, down his neck, with his left hand stopping where the bullet had left him a nasty scar.

"It was just a dream, you're safe."

John looked up at the whispering yet still loud voice. The scarf had previously been removed from the dresser and placed on Sherlock's lap. The impossibly tall man, in John's opinion at least, reached back over to the table and handed John a pen cap.

"What's this?" His voice was still shaky.

"Drink."

The cap was filled with water; it was the perfect size for John, which only helped to further frustrate him.

Sherlock didn't put the scarf back on the end table; instead he placed it on a pillow at the head of the bed and repositioned himself closer to the side.

John woke up again three hours later to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Light spilled through the window forcing him to open his eyes.

"Sherlock. Sherlock! Wake up."

The detective didn't move. The knocking persisted.

"That git." John untangled himself from the taller man's scarf and stood directly in front of his ear. "SHERLOCK!" It wasn't the best of plans.

Sherlock rose so quickly that John tumbled off the pillow luckily still landing on the mattress.

"John? Where are you?"

"DON"T CRUSH ME!" The doctor scurried to get away from the long bone crushing limbs of Sherlock.

"What are you doing there?" He scooped his doctor up into his palms before hearing the knocking of the door.

"Just go answer it."

Sherlock placed John on the mantle by the skull like the day before and answered door.

"Do you need something?"

"Oh, I was just about to leave… uh, is John here?"

Sherlock stared at the woman for a good thirty seconds with out word, just running his eyes across her.

"Girlfriend? No, you're a lesbian. Recently divorced, you're not wearing the ring on your tanned finger. Still haven't cut your hair since the break up so you're taking it poorly. Alcoholic before or after the divorce? Hmm, must be before. So why are you here for John if you don't like men? Ah, you must be Harry!" Sherlock's tone had been cold and daunting until he deduced she was John's sister; which made him practically beam.

Harry's expression revealed how distressing the detective was, "You must be Sherlock… John told me you might say something like that."

The corner of Sherlock's lips curled slightly, John had clearly mentioned his brilliant deduction skills to his sister.

John peered from the eyehole of the skull he hid behind; spying Harry he realized this could possibly be one of the worst days of his life. Just under being shot, having a bomb strapped to him, the time he and his date were nearly murdered when an assassin who thought he was Sherlock and…. _'On second thought this isn't that bad…'_

"I meant to call, but, is my brother in by any chance?"

"He's… out at the moment."

"Ugh, I knew I should have called." Harry pulled her phone out.

"Actually! I believe he left his phone here today. You know John, always so forgetful."

Harry looked at the man with an unusual look of caution. "John takes his phone everywhere. He's not forgetful in the least." She pushed her way past him. "Where is he? It's too early for him to have left already."

"My god…" Sherlock clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent a laugh from bursting out.

"What? What is it?"

"N-nothing. Nothing at all." The last of his sentence was barely audible through his deep throated laugh. "You're taller than him!" John would never hear the end of this.

Harry was still suspicious the lanky man was helping her brother hide from her, but she couldn't help but smile at this. "He is my _little_ brother after all."

John cringed inside his skull barrier. Harry had picked on him constantly as they grew up and she was no better now that they were both in their 30's.

Harry's smile suddenly turned to a slightly more seductive angle, "You know where my dear _little_ John is don't you?"

Sherlock watched her with interest. "I might."

"Why is he hiding from me?" Her voice was deeper then before.

"I really can't say." Sherlock's voice grew more bemused.

Harry took a step closer towards the detective. "Won't you tell me?"

"You're a lesbian and I have no interest in women. I recommend a new tactic." His expression remained the same.

"Damn it. Fine. He's here isn't he?" Her voice lost all the seduction it had a moment before.

Sherlock didn't move, just continued to smile lightly.

Harry's smile returned as she stepped away from the detective circling the flat, her voice was much louder now. "So how much do you know about my little brother? I could always fill in a few blanks."

Now the detective was interested. "Oh?"

"My you sell out fast. But yes, for instance, did you know John had…"

"Finish that sentence and I will strangle you in your sleep!" John's voice was so loud that Harry turned around expecting to see him standing right behind her.

"I guess he's done playing hide and seek." Sherlock walked to the mantle picking something up behind a skull.

"What? Where is he? Was that from a speaker?" Harry seemed truly perplexed as the detective gestured her to sit down while he cupped his hands around something small.

"No games, I just want to find my brother."

"Also you wanted to talk to me about the death of one of your friends, but I'll relent in showing you John."

"How did you…?" She stopped speaking abruptly the second Sherlock opened his hands to reveal the tiny doctor crouched in them.

"J-J-John?" She gasped.

"Don't you dare make fun of me or tell this giant git anything." John huffed.

"What on earth happened to him?" Harry was too shocked to address her brother directly.

"Small accident. Emphasis on _small_."

"Very funny." John was not amused, "He's working on an antidote."

"Really John, you haven't even considered all the positive possibilities of being… small."

"What are you jabbering about now? This is all your fault you know, I have told you countless times not to bring these chemicals into the house."

Harry did more then just crack a smile at seeing her twelve centimeter tall brother fuming mad at another man.

"Well you broke the beaker. But yes, there are several positives. You don't have to buy food anymore since you fill up on crumbs, we don't need to pay rent for two rooms, you wont have to chase me down an ally or rather I wont have to look back to make sure you are following, and I'll always know where you are." Sherlock smiled.

"I'm not your pet Sherlock! I have my own bloody life to live!"

Sherlock's smile fell, "I'd take very good care of you and you could still help me on cases. Sure typing your blog might become a bit difficult but…"

"How am I suppose to go to work?"

"With the amount of money you would be saving you really wouldn't need to work anymore…"

"And dating?"

"Oh please, your 'dates' are with the dullest women and you really don't need to go on them. I don't see why you bother."

Harry had waited patiently silently laughing at the two until now. "You don't know why he dates?"

"To be fair he doesn't know why anyone dates."

"Ah, asexual?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock looked away at nothing in particular neither denying nor confirming the accusation.

"He's married to his work."

"Erm, right. Well, as much as I find him simply adorable, I would like my brother back to his original stunted size."

"Harry-!"

"But yes, I did come here about my friend… she died yesterday."

"Blond or black hair?" Sherlock's gaze returned.

"Black. Why…?"

"We investigated the scene yesterday, I suspect they weren't the first victims. But since there were two it stood out. Might have been a mistake, the perpetrator only meant to kill one of them and poisoned the other by mistake. Or our killer is taking greater risks. Hard to say."

"I don't think Hannah had any enemies. So you'll help me then?"

"Yes. We need to find the first victim or any others. There's a greater connection."

"Greater connection?" Harry was confused and shot John a glance. John knew enough to trust Sherlock's deduction though.

"Yes. If it was a random killing there would have been someone alone out back the perp could have killed. But no, the killer entered a crowded club, could have been noticed, could have risked dropping the weapon, there was a target. Upon inflicting the target and leaving I believe that's when your friend was poisoned by mistake."

Harry looked down, tears streaming from her eyes. "It was a mistake?"

"We'll catch him regardless,"

Harry reached her hand towards Sherlock's, he flattened his palms out so John could walk across onto Harry's. The doctor took her thumb and gave it a light kiss. "We'll get him, love. I promise."


	4. Perks

Chapter 4

"Perks"

John was beginning to see the perks of being small. He could hide in Sherlock's pocket all day without having to put up with people like Donovan and Anderson, food was in vast abundance, he was off work 'sick', and for once he had Sherlock's complete and undivided attention. In the past two days the detective hadn't been to his mind palace once. It's not that the doctor wanted Sherlock to be so hyper focused about him, but it was a nice change of pace from being ignored days on end while Sherlock was trapped in his mind.

It was nearly noon and Sherlock sat at the kitchen table peering into a microscope still wearing his dressing gown and sleep wear.

"You seem unusually happy." Sherlock slid a new slide under the lens without looking over at John laying on his back on the Union Jack pillow.

"Just thinking."

Sherlock smirked, "You like being small."

"I do not! You should bloody hurry up with an antidote in fact."

"You like it. Besides, you've nothing better to do today."

"True, but I have to be back to normal on Monday, got that?"

"Monday? Why is that? Big surgery to perform? I wouldn't hold your breath."

"No, I have a date with Maria."

Sherlock snickered.

"What? For the last time, stop making fun of everyone I date."

"Oh it's not that. Just… you should probably cancel the date at this point."

John sat up with the first sign of anger, "Why is that? You are making a cure aren't you?"

"Working on it. But I should probably inform you that today is Monday."

"What!? No! That's not possible! Damn it Sherlock, where the hell is a calendar?"

Sherlock placed his phone next to the pillow, John hopped off landing on the hard wooden table with a light thud. The screen lit up clearly indicating it was in fact Monday.

"Damn it, I can't possibly cancel on her again! Last week I was on a stake out with you that you promised wouldn't last more then four hours-"

"Stake outs are not an exact science John-"

"And the week before that every piece of clothing I owned reeked after one of your experiments blew up."

"That was hardly my fault, those chemicals really shouldn't have reacted that way, I think Ms. Hudson might have switched the labels-"

"Why on earth would she do a thing like that?"

"Besides, I see no reason why you can't still go on your date." Sherlock used a lot of inner will to prevent himself from laughing.

"You're a bloody machine! You couldn't possibly mean that!"

"Why not? If anything people have shown that they are more interested in you in this state, it would make a good dinner conversation at least."

"You are the sole cause of all of my breakups, I hope you know that."

"Frankly I don't know why you go out with those _women_ anyway."

"Because that's what _normal _people do, go out on dates."

Sherlock scoffed, "_Normal people._ Dull."

"Are you saying I'm dull?"

"Not you, just the women you date."

There was no winning with Sherlock.

"Acrylic! I've got it!" Sherlock bolted out of his chair and disappeared into his room to get dressed.

John knew from his expression he had just solved the case, or least had a major break through in it. His whole body was suddenly surrounded by ten long swooping digits.

"Careful!"

"Oh hush, you are perfectly safe" Sherlock could feel John clingy fiercely to his fingers for support. Sherlock sighed, "I apologize, you're safe okay?" He could feel John's body relax a bit in his hands.

"Just… warn me first alright?"

* * *

"Ah, Sherlock, good. I think we found three more murders that could be linked to the ones at the club yesterday." Lestrade held up a manila folder.

Sherlock quickly grabbed at it and tore into the cases files."

Lestrade closed the blinds to his office. "Uh, Sherlock?"

The taller man barely took notice as he tried to find the connection with the other victims. "Mhm?"

"Is he here?"

"The killer? I would hardly think he would willingly stroll into Scotland Yard."

"No, no, I meant…" The D.I.'s voice was barely above a whisper. "John?"

Sherlock's eyes never left the content of the folder but a small smile did begin to form. "Naturally."

"Is he… alright? I mean, there's no cure yet then?"

"Not yet, but I assure you he is perfectly fine."

"Greg already knows, so you might as well take me out so I can breath." A muffled voice from Sherlock's pocket called out.

"You're being over dramatic again, if you couldn't breath in there then you would have already died by now. Besides, I thought you were still napping." Sherlock reached in his pocket to pull John out."

"I do not nap in your pocket."

"No? Hm, well that's doesn't explain the snoring in the cab then."

John was glad his size would possibly hide his blush, "Well it's pitch dark in your pocket and there's nothing to do!"

As Sherlock placed him on Lestrade's desk he felt eyes all over himself. "Greg? Not you too…." His head hung low. "You already saw me yesterday, there is really no need to stair."

"Sorry about that… it's just, blimey! You really are small!"

"These women," Sherlock cut in "They're all lesbians correct?"

"Well, yes, we think it might just be a hate crime-"

"Wrong."

Lestrade let out a heavy sigh, "What is it then?"

"There's no variety, these women were all tracked down for sharing specific traits. The dark haired woman at the club was just a fluke, all the others are shorter then average with light colored hair."

"So the killer has a type?"

"No, there's something more here. I'm just not sure what yet."


	5. Misplaced

Chapter 5

"Misplaced"

The novelty of being twelve centimeters tall was quickly wearing off. John was over the solitude of being in a musty pocket, of having the only people who saw him stair intently at him comparing his size to near by household objects, and even having his flatmate's over compensating attention.

It was half past five when John stepped out of his pool sized sink from a bath, drying himself with a small hand towel. Two days of completely relying on Sherlock for everything was simply too much.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Finished?"

John put his strangely accurate miniature clothes back on, hair still slightly dampened.

"All done."

Sherlock was enjoying John's condition far too much. He would never be accused of focusing too much on his flatmate since he could argue the small man needed constant watching now and even better, the detective had John all to himself, no need to compete for his attention with pesky dull girlfriends or the hospital John worked at. Of course that also meant there was no one to buy his groceries. He would cross that bridge when he got there.

Being moved around from place to place was starting to make John sick, holding onto Sherlock's fingers while in transport was all he could do to attempt to prevent extreme dizziness and vomiting.

"I feel as if I'm forgetting about something." The small man thought to himself as he was carried to the kitchen where Sherlock already had a kettle on the stove for tea.

A light knocking came from the front door.

"Maria…" John had completely forgotten about his date that night. "Sherlock! You have to get rid her!"

"Well I am rather good at getting rid of your dates, but why should I? She'll leave eventually."

"You can't just leave her out there!"

"Hello? John?" Maria called from outside.

"Oh fine." Sherlock placed John on the kitchen counter so he could easily hide amongst any of the dishes or food products. He opened the door with a fast swing. "Ah, Maria. John's sick, he isn't going out with you tonight." He then shut the door quickly.

"Sherlock!" John moaned.

The knock continued.

"Damn, what does that woman want?" He reluctantly opened the door again. "I have already told you, John is-"

"Where is he?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do keep up, he's in bed sick, he can't possibly go out."

"Then I'll come in and make him soup."

"Can't, he's asleep." Sherlock attempted to shut the door again but Maria had stuck her foot in the way, preventing him from doing so.

John sighed, why did they both have to be so headstrong? "Aha." He spied his cell phone on the other side of the counter just beyond some dishes that needed washing, Sherlock was truly lost without John cleaning up around the flat. '_If I could just get to my phone and text her, she'll believe I'm sick.' _A spoon provided a nice ramp up the first plate but from there jumping and climbing would be involved. A plated tilted drastically above him held in place by a cup and a roll of paper towels. Observing the incredibly strange angels of looking at the massive dishes he didn't notice a discarded toothpick in his path. John's footing slipped as he stepped on the pick, falling back into the cup. The cup quickly fell over allowing the plate to fall off the counter and smash, surprisingly neither Sherlock nor Maria heard the commotion, but more bothersome, the roll of paper towels quickly rolled away from it's position on the counter and onto the stove near the flames under the kettle.

_'no no no no no!'_ John had hit his head on the tile countertop but was already up on his feet with great alarm as the paper towels began to go up in flames. His first thought was to put the fire out as fast as possible, but he soon realizes the flames were far above his head and he could do nothing. He backed away from the spreading fire, he was running out of counter space and the fall down looked pretty high compared to his size.

It was worth the risk. "Sherlock! Sherlock help!" He called out but the detective still hadn't heard him and had even stepped outside to continue the argument. '_Shit'._

He looked around and found no way down_, 'String! There might be string on the counter I could use as rope!'_ He shuffled the coffee mugs and jam jars around desperately. Finally behind a blender he found something unexpected, a small rat hole. John had almost completely forgotten this whole mess started when Sherlock jumped up to find a rat in the flat. John took one step in hesitantly, he didn't want to burn to a miniature crisp on the counter or fall to his death, but that didn't mean a rat hole was an entirely safe place to enter.

Sherlock stepped back inside the flat slamming the door behind him, A look of satisfied triumph on his face, not only had he gotten rid of John's date for the night, he had likely ruined all future dates between them as well. The unexpected sound of the door slamming caused John to loose his balance again, two steps later he fell into the hole, it was too dark to tell at first, but it went straight down the wall.

Sherlock glanced over at the kitchen at first wondering where John had gone, his eyes widened in horror as he saw the kitchen slowly burn down.

"John!" luckily for him the doctor had insisted he buy a new fire extinguisher after the last one had been used to put out one of Sherlock's combustible experiments. The detective grabbed it off the wall and sprayed every flame till it ceased. His heart was racing as he scanned for his John.

"John!? John! Where are you?" There was no sign of him.

John could hear his flat mate calling for him, he estimated he was just below the floor tiles now and his ankle throbbed painfully. "I'm down here!" He could hear his voice echo but there was no sign that Sherlock had heard him.

Sherlock tossed plates and cups every where looking for his doctor, unable to hear the tiny voice through the wood and tiles below him. The thought of finding John injured or worse was too much. "John!?" his eyes blurred as they moistened. Once everything was off the counter besides an old blender with still no sign of John, Sherlock knew something wasn't right.

"He must be here!" His eyes darted around the kitchen. He knew he had placed John on the counter, but for a moment he started to doubt himself. '_No, I defiantly put him on the counter!'_ His mind raced. "ah! John left the counter when he saw the fire!" a perfectly sound solution. But how far could John have gotten? He began calling for his flat mate again, this time checking every surface, even the floor.

John continued to call out to no avail, his voice was simply too small.

He was lucky to only be suffering a sprained ankle, if he had fallen on a hard surface he likely would have died. He slowly stood to check his surroundings in the darkened tunnel. He could feel something soft under his feet, it's what had broken his fall. He kneeled down to place a hand on the object.

"Uh! A rat nest!" he frowned knowing he had touched a potentially diseased ridden pile of trash and feces.

He looked up the gnawed out hole that led back to the counter. He easily fit in the hole, but lacking the physical capabilities of a rat he could see no way to climb out.

The detective was know ripping the flat apart in his search, almost ignoring his phone as it went off with a text.

Possible new information on the killings, come to the Yard.- GL

Sherlock blanked as he looked at the screen.

Something's happened, I can't come.-SH

Lestrade blinked as he saw what the detective texted. He never said no to an interesting case.

Everything alright?- GL

I might have lost John.- SH


	6. Down the Rat Hole

Chapter 6

"Down the Rat Hole"

Lestrade was in 221B fifteen minutes after receiving the text from Sherlock. He noticed the door was uncharacteristically unlocked.

"Sherlock?" He quickly noted that the flat looked as though it had been ripped to shreds.

"Don't step anywhere!" Sherlock's voice boomed across the flat before he popped up from behind the couch, hair in a mess.

Lestrade's gaze dropped, "So you really did lose him then?"

"I… I can't find him anywhere, it doesn't make sense. He was only out of my sight for a few moments."

"Where did you see him last? Is that… why does it smell like smoke in here?"

"There might have been a small fire." Sherlock turned his face away from Greg's.

"A fire!? Bloody hell Sherlock! Then John could have-"

"No, I checked profusely but he was defiantly not in the fire. But I don't see where he could have gone to."

Lestrade's eyes wondered the flat before falling on the kitchen with a few new scorch marks on the wall. "It happened in there then? Where was John at the time?"

"Lestrade, I don't miss things, he's not in there."

"Oi! You do when you're upset or not thinking straight, I've seen you do it."

"Well he's clearly not there anymore now is he?!" Sherlock's frustration was quickly rising.

"What about this blender? Was it here before?"

"What? Yes. It's unimportant."

Lestrade picked the blender up anyway, analyzing it. "Guess you're right."

Sherlock's eyes widened dramatically as he spotted the hole the blender was hiding. He quickly pushed Lestrade out of the way to peer down the hole, but it was significantly too dark.

"John!"

The two men hear no reply, but then it was also possible they just couldn't hear John's small voice through the hole.

As John tried to stand he fell back with a throbbing pain from his right ankle. The ambient light was just enough for the doctor to inspect it.

"Damn, I've twisted it."

He glanced around and spied a toothpick that seemed to be the perfect size for a makeshift cane and slowly propped himself up with it. From above he could hear the sound of a door slamming followed by the unmistakable hiss of a fire extinguisher.

Sherlock's voice booming voice easily penetrated through the wood but John's returned calls seemed to go unnoticed. He cursed his now miniature vocal chords knowing his only way out would be finding one himself.

The long winding hole got darker with each step until John was completely blind using his toothpick cane to feel around. The ground was steadily becoming slippery and he could feel the bottoms of his trousers soak up the water he was now trudging through. As Sherlock's frantic calls were muffled by the distance a new terrifying sound took it's place. At first John didn't recognize the sound of thunder, but when a quick streak of lightning shown through a sliver crack in the wall it light his entire surroundings. The crack was too small for John to slide through but being so close to the outside gave him hope of finding a way back into the flat. He followed the wall with his toothpick until he noticed the ground was harder and slightly curved on either side of his path. The rushing of near by water aided in his correct deduction that he had found his way inside a pipe, likely an exterior drainage one at that.

John's entire body froze as a rustling came from behind him. The movement was fast but he was sure of it. John had dread this moment since he first realized what had caused the hole he was trapped in. Leaning on his good leg he held his toothpick out as a weapon. The rustling started again, closer this time and slowly drew near. John prayed for lighting to show him the tunnel again. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest as his breaths quickened. At the finale moment before the damp hair spiked creature lunged at him lightning illuminated on them allowing John to prepare his ill suited wooden 'sword'. It plunged through the rat on it's first blow but did not kill it. The rat slashed a claw at John's face, he successfully dodged but it nicked his left shoulder. Rolling beneath the thrashing rat to get away from it's fangs he grabbed the base of the toothpick twisting it deeper inside the creature causing a grotesque squeal to escape it. It's furless tail whipped around and soon it's teeth were nipping far too close to John again. With the speed of a soldier John daringly reached under the rat to pull the toothpick out and within second of being mauled he thrust it through the beast's mouth penetrating the brain. The grey form slumped down as the small man felt it's sticky liquid on his hands and arms.

Any thoughts John had previously that morning about the so called 'perks' of his situation were now firmly gone. Being small was terrifying and he would do anything to be tall again. '_Well, my regular size.' _He frowned.

He let out a long breath he didn't realize he was holding, it wasn't until then that he hear the soft pitter-patter of the water hitting the outside of the pipe he was in. He bent down to wash the sticky blood of his hands and arms in the shallow water at his feet.

"Sherlock's probably tearing the place apart looking for me and I haven't a bloody clue where I am." A horrifying thought crossed John's mind, _'What if I never find my way back? I could be trapped like this fighting off rats and who knows what forever.'_ He breathed deeply trying to reassure himself that he would get back in the flat and find a safe spot that Sherlock would be sure to see him in. '_What if there's no cure?'_ It felt like electricity through his spine. _Why on earth had he just simply assumed things would work out? They were dealing with an unknown chemical that had never been tested on someone before, there was no guarantee of anything. _John swallowed hard. The last thing he wanted was to start hyperventilating before he had even reached safety.

John tried his best to push these thoughts out of his head, a very hard task to accomplish, but he continued to walk down the pipe nonetheless. Not too long he saw a dim light at the end that glistened off the trickle of water that ran from the pipe to the street. It was dark out but a near by street light helped John recognize yellow graffiti on the ally wall, his ally wall. All he had to do his make it to the front of the flat, maneuver his way up the stairs, crawl under the door and then find some way to get Sherlock to see him. A difficult task but by no means an impossible one. He strode forward toothpick cane in hand hardly containing his smile, most of his previous concerns faded. That is until a vast glass dome encompassed him. He looked up startled to find a small child had captured him in a jam jar.

* * *

Lestrade brought a flashlight he had happened to have in his back pocket and shown it down the hole.

"It's pretty hard to see what's down there."

Sherlock took a look for him self and frowned. "We'll have to go through the floor boards."

Greg sighed as he looked out the small kitchen window to see it had started to rain lightly, things were not going well.

The entire kitchen floor lay in ruins in a heap of splintered wood. Sherlock had finally found the gnawed out tunnel but no evidence of John.

"Maybe he never went in the hole? It is an awfully long fall." Greg offered as explanation.

Sherlock leaned closer to the rat nest that lay at the bottom of the initial hole and pulled his small spyglass out. "Shoe impressions." His voice was monotone at first but then became filled with excitement "Greg! He was here! We just need to know how far this tunnel goes and where it leads to."


	7. Over the Novelty

Chapter 7

"Over the Novelty"

John crouched behind a barrier peering over the edge with his rifle in hand. He couldn't remember how long he had been in this position or at what point his thick military boots had socked up the water at his feet making him feel heavier and sluggish. Something told him this moment had happened before, that he was somehow reliving the past. In John's peripheral vision he saw a dark figure approach, he swung his gun around and recognized the enemy just before the ear shattering shot rang out.

"Hit the deck!"

John's body was parallel with the ground before his mind could even keep up, but now his should was writhing in a familiar pain.

Something was different.

John looked up, his attacker was laying sprawled out against the cold sand. Everything was eerily quiet, he stood to get a better look at the man who now had a massive cavity in his chest. The sight was horrific and yet he couldn't take his eyes away from him. _This isn't right. This didn't happen. _John turned to see his savior. A tall man clad in black stood behind him, glock still raised out in defense. _I know that gun. That's my gun!_ John took another step forward, the pain in his shoulder dissipating into nothing.

"Sherlock?"

His clothes were pristine as if he was unaffected by the sand and blood that was all around him, black curls perfectly in place.

"'Lock?" John repeated concerned.

Sherlock stood frozen, arm still outstretched, black coat flowing behind him. John was suddenly aware that he was asleep but in those fleeting moments when he realized he had become lucid it was taken away from him.

He woke with an awful stuff neck and back freezing in a glass dome.

* * *

Previously:

"Get Mrs. Hudson at once, she should have the plans for the building and we can see where the pipes all lead. " Sherlock had his usual monotone 'facts only' voice but eyes were unfocused and glistened with water.

"Sure, what should I tell her if she asks why?" Lestrade was beginning to feel more like a nuisance then that he was helping, but he also couldn't just leave the sociopath.

"Irrelevant. Make something up, tell her the truth, unimportant." He crouched to peer down at the torn up floor boards again, straining his eyes to see as far as possible. A sliver of metal caught his eye and he forced his body even closer to the floor to see it better. The metal seemed somewhat new, that meant the pipe had been replaced relatively recently. "Of course!"

Sherlock sprung to his feet and raced out the front door, "Forget about the floor plans!"

He was down the steps in a blink and raced around the corner of the building into the ally stopping for only a moment for his heart rate to calm.

A young boy dressed shabbily straightened his back at the sight of the odd man and shoved a glass jar inside his jacket as the detective caught his breath.

"Change sir?"

Sherlock looked up seeing the filthy child but paid him no attention, instead he stalked toward the pipe shinning his flashlight inside.

"I'll have to take the whole thing apart." He muttered to himself.

The boy sighed but then remembered his catch as he patted the lump in his jacket and slipped away.

Sherlock was frantic, he saw no signs of tiny doctor. "John?!" his voice echoed softly up the pipe.

A small trickle of blood mixed with rain run off came down the pipe. His eyes widened at the sight. "No…" A multitude of graphic possibilities flashed through Sherlock's mind, almost all of which ended poorly for John.

Lestrade turned the corner with a pipe wrench in hand, "Oi! There you are. You bloody ran off without saying where you were going again. "

Sherlock didn't respond but instead grabbed the wrench from the DI and went to work on the pipe, ripping it apart. Half of the whole pipe was nearly destroyed with a large rat fell out with a small thud in a puddle below.

"ugh, this is disgusting Sherlock." Lestrade looked away.

Sherlock kneeled to analyze it. "It's been stabbed through…"

"What on earth are you doing with that thing."

"Lestrade look, there's a toothpick rammed through it's mouth and into the brain."

"Yes, very disgusting, now get away from it."

Sherlock's eyes revealed their utter annoyance. "Someone had to have deliberately stabbed it and nothing that small is that clever."

Lestrade's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh…"

"Except for John that is." A small smirk found it's way to his lips before his eyes began darting about again. "That means he must have made it at least this far and he wasn't in the rest of the pipe. He should have known where he was once he exited the pipe so it shouldn't have been too hard to make it back to the front of the flat."

"Should we go back in then?" Lestrade wasn't sure what the detective was deducing yet.

"The boy…"

'Hm?"

"No! No, no no no no, damn it Lestrade why was I so blind?" Sherlock put his hands to either side of his temples in frustration.

"What's-"

"There was a child here when I first came around the corner. DAMN IT LESTRADE! He must have found John and taken him!"

"What!?" Lestrade's eyes went to the nearest street subconsciously thinking that would somehow aid them in finding the boy. "We'll just have to… Sherlock?"

Sherlock had fallen to the ground with his overly long legs awkwardly sprawled around him, hands still to his temples, but now his head was ducked downwards making his expression impossible for Lestrade to see.

"Did you see what he looked like? We could try tracking him down-"

A loud sob escaped Sherlock against his will. He was normally very good at controlling his outward emotions but now he felt helpless to them.

"Sherlock…." Greg crouched down closer to the detective "It's going to be alright, we will find him."

"You can't know that, there is no way you can." Sherlock snapped back. "This is all my fault. He kept threatening me to stop bringing chemicals home… and now he's gone."

Greg was still not completely sure what exactly happened to John that he ended up like that, but he knew it was entirely Sherlock's doing from the beginning.

"I knew what it did, but I wanted to find a reverse chemical before I used it. I'm not even sure if there is one…" his eyes unfocused again looking into a distant space.

Lestrade went quiet. John had seemed adamant that this condition would just be temporary before, they both had. He never thought there might not be a way for John to get back to his normal size. "There's got to be a cure." He tried to sound reassuring but knew his voice fell flat. His hand hovered in the air just above Sherlock's shoulder not sure if he should pat him or not.

"I… I don't know." Sherlock's voice was so soft that Greg had to strain his ears to hear it.

"I knew what had happened as soon as I saw the beaker that broke… I kept hoping that night that maybe it hadn't entered his blood stream, that it wouldn't affect him. But I knew. I just… I didn't want him to freak out." He looked at Lestrade for a second then down at the ground ashamed. "I haven't told him yet."

Sherlock had outwardly been adoring the new John for the past two days, but inside he cringed to see him. It was a reminder of Sherlock's lack of care to his flatmate's safety and of what he might never have again. The novelty of having John ride around in his pocket all day was a pale comparison to having his friend back. He worried constantly about his safety, checking to make sure he was still in his pocket while out of the flat. Having to remember to feed him, although luckily John had been very vocal about that point so far.

Sherlock barely managed to take care of himself, taking care of John was slowly becoming a nightmare. John was like a pet he wanted desperately but knew he couldn't take care of.

"I need him back…" the detective was shaking subtly.

"I know, I know… we'll find this kid."

* * *

It was difficult at first to stand in the glass jam jar since John's shoes were still wet from the drain and lacked the proper plastic griping of '_real'_ shoes. He took a moment to think about his thick crude clothes, granted they were possibly the best _doll_ clothes ever made, they were still sub standard to actual clothing, especially considering the lack of socks and boxers. He had also lost his tooth pick, making it difficult to stand right.

"See grandpa! I told you I found a real one!"

"My God look at that." A shaky voice mumbled.

John looked up through the jam jar to see a massive pair of spectacles staring at him. He jumped back but hit the wall of glass behind him falling back into a sitting position.

John took in a deep breath, perhaps he use this to his advantage. "Sir, as you can see I'm really just a regular person and if you would please take me back to my flat-"

"And it talks! English no less at that." The old man had a whimsical smile and tilted his head, "Trying to convince me you're 'regular' bloke eh? Ha, I've caught you now and I know exactly what you are."

John wondered if he could possibly explain the mix up with the chemicals and if it was even remotely believable. _'What did he mean by 'what you are?'_ "If you would just let me out-"

"Oi you fae are all alike, trying to trick me into releasing you so you can just get away?" he brought a microscope out to inspect John better with. "Mighty fine clothing you've made."

"Fae? No nononono, I'm just, er, slightly shrunk."

The man suddenly lifted the jar making John extremely nauseous from the movement. "You put me down this instant!" he grabbed his stomach to keep from vomiting.

"I'm no fool of course, I wont be offering you freedom for magic, I'll just be selling you to the highest bidder."

"Magic? You're bloody nutter you know that?"

The old man turned to his grandson "Just imagine what people would pay for a real fae folk? Then they can deal with any damn hex he can manage."

"You could at least give me a breathing hole and food."

Hours passed as the old man called various news stations and museums asking what they would pay to get a hold of his 'genuine fae folk'. John didn't pay much attention but in they end there seemed to only be one person interested, an auction house that dealt in extremely rare and valuable goods. Occasionally some questionably illegal sells as well.

_'Great, now everyone will see me like this.'_ He told himself that this will lead to a higher chance of Sherlock finding him, after all, Mycroft certainly had enough funds to bid for him or at least steal him. He sank back into a seated position with his head against the glass.

"And if Sherlock doesn't find me?" he mumbled to himself, eyelids growing heavy and closing. Luckily the jam label blocked out some of the light from the room. He knew the answer. He would be trapped as some rich persons amusing 'pet' or experiment. Even if he was trapped in this height deficient form he rather be in his own flat with Sherlock. At least he had attempted to give him some resemblance of his former life, bringing him along on cases. As John drifted further into unconsciousness he remembered what it was like riding in Sherlock's pocket, the warmth, the smell of cigarettes, after shave, and something chemical- which didn't sound pleasant at all but he found that it was strangely soothing. His mind drifted to the way his flatmate carried him so gently in his hands, he could feel the few calluses he had from playing the violin but his hands were unusually soft other then that. He wanted very much to be carried by those hands again. '_If I'm ever normal sized again I'm taking those hands and feeling them.'_ His eyes jolted open. "Where the hell did that come from?" John slouched further down and closed his eyes again '_I'm just tired and disgruntled is all. It's not like I was thinking of his lips or anything. Those perfect cupid's lips.' _He was asleep before he could catch himself again, dreaming things that would make him blush if he were aware of it.


	8. Big Brother is Watching

Chapter 8

"Big Brother is Watching"

"No. No. No. How many times do I have to tell you? His jaw was rounder and the angle of his eyes were-"

"Come off it Sherlock, he's been drawing that damn sketch for hours now."

"Well it's not right yet, I am surprised at you Lestrade, you know how important it is to find this child."

"I know, but well, we've been here all night, the sun's already up." Lestrade glanced at a near by window allowing the first few rays of daylight in the police station.

The sketch artist Sherlock had been shouting orders at for hours finally gave up, "Should I send it to the fax now?" he looked up at Lestrade hopefully. The D.I. sighed and briefly looked to Sherlock for confirmation, who only scowled but ultimately nodded.

Mycroft had been watching his various cameras throughout London with great interest over the past two and a half days. When he last saw John on screen it seemed like the unlikely pair had just come home from a long night of case solving, both seemed in good health and decent spirits. But the following morning John had not left the flat for work.

_Unusual._

A quick phone call revealed the good doctor had called in sick for the day, the following day as well. But this morning the hospital had received no such phone call, yet, the doctor still hadn't left the flat.

_'It could have just slipped both of their minds to call in a third day in a row'._ Mycroft thought.

But something was still bothering him. _Sherlock_. His younger brother didn't seem to be brooding in the least that his flatmate/ partner/ blogger/ friend wasn't helping him with his newest case. No extra groceries had been brought in for the supposedly bedridden John, not even medicine. The only out of place visitor they had was John's sister, albeit that did reinforce the possibility the doctor was sick if she was paying them a visit.

Mycroft played the saved footage from the night before. It wasn't the clearest film due to the light rain, but it showed something that rather peeked his interests.

Mary had come around 6pm dressed up and in high spirits as she entered the flat. _A date then._ Mycroft allowed himself a smile knowing that meant John would be leaving the flat and would reveal why he was absent from the monitor for the past two days. But ten minutes of film later she seemed to be storming away from the flat in a positively dismal mood.

_What could have possibly happened in those ten minutes? _The answer was obvious. _Sherlock._ Mycroft pressed his fingers to his temples but continued to watch for any more activity.

Lestrade appeared twenty minutes later. "Ah, he sent her away because they had a case." Mycroft was pleased with his false deduction. He noted Lestrade seemed strangely out of place, his clothes less crisp then he usually wore them while on business.

"Social call then? No… he seems far too distraught." Mycroft leaned in closer to the screen now more worried. It made no sense; if John was so sick that his sister and then Lestrade were paying visits while so upset then why did Sherlock seem fine? And why did he always check his breast pocket before and after getting in a cab?

Things weren't adding up. Mycroft scowled at the thought.

Three hours of footage passed with nothing of any interest happening. As Mycroft fast forwarded the tape he nearly jumped out of his seat when his little brother came bounding out of the flat like the mad man he was. Switching to the ally's camera he watched as Sherlock ripped apart a drainage system. _Curious._ Even stranger, Lestrade let him, looking very nervous and anxious that the pipe be torn to shreds. The two only paused in their bizarre efforts to look at a dead rat of all things.

Mycroft huffed, "Even if he were sick, these two seem thrilled to look at a rat, where the hell is John? He should have come down after them." Mycroft's eyes widened dramatically, "Sher-lock?" the sight of his baby brother kneeling over and crying in an ally against his work associate was something he thought he would never live to see. Something was most definitely wrong. He waited for the two to return to the flat to be with John, but they didn't. Mycroft raised an eyebrow as the two got in a cab and left.

"But that makes no sense. He's obviously emotionally compromised because of John, why did he not at least check on him before he left?"

Traffic cameras easily revealed the DI and Sherlock had gone to Scotland Yard after the odd ally incident. Mycroft was baffled.

"Sir? I have an unusual request for you from a Mr-"

"Not now." Mycroft made a 'shooing' gesture with his hand to indicate for Anthea to leave him be.

Athea grimaced but wasn't fully detoured yet. "A man claims he has something that might be of interest to you."

Mycroft was about to yell an insult to her insolence until a thought flashed in his mind. As truly unlikely as it was, there was a slim possibility that this might somehow lead him to his answer.

"Very well, get on with it." He continued to watch the footage of the flat just in case something turned up.

"A Mr. Ganahl would like to invite you to bid on something. He says it may be of scientific interest to you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes now believing this to be a waist of his time as he previously suspected. "I'm sure he does." His voice was sarcastic.

"A faerie."

Mycroft scuffed loudly. "Crackpot."

Anthea looked down at her phone. "Or rather a five inch man by the looks of it."

Mycroft turned to face her, "A what?" his voice skeptical but cautious.

Anthea held her phone up for Mycroft to see. There was an image of a jam jar and inside what appeared to be a sleeping John Watson.

* * *

Sherlock sat in a chair in the waiting room, eyes closed and hands in a praying position just in front of his chin. Lestrade looked away assuming the detective was in his 'mind palace' but in reality he was just trying to keep from having another outburst of unnecessary emotions.

Donovan and Anderson strolled in suspiciously too close in time to one another. Sherlock could smell their matching tropical scent shampoo, not the brand Anderson's wife uses he mentally noted.

"Freak's here awfully early today."

"Where's your pet? He's been missing for three days now. Did he run off on ya?"

Sherlock was glad his eyes were closed or might have winced at that. Lestrade sent the two a threatening look. A beeping came from the detective's pocket.

I believe I have found what you are looking for.- MH

And what would that be? A way for you to stick to your diet?- SH

How tall would you say John is? 5' 6"? or is it closer to 5"? –MH

Sherlock looked at his phone skeptically, "He couldn't…"

What difference does one inch make?- SH

Not much really. But five feet and an inch, well, I always thought he was on the short side, but he seems a tad bit shorter now.- MH

WHERE IS HE?- SH

Really now brother, you should be more careful with your possessions. Did he fall out of your pocket?-MH

You're obviously trying to get me to say something about his size, or lack there of. I would very much like him back if you would be so kind- SH

Now brother, don't be short with me.- MH

Very funny. I give in. Yes, John seems to be size impaired at the moment. Just please tell me where he is.- SH

Up for auction. Care to join me in making a deal with the current owner before hand? There's car outside waiting for you. –MH

Sherlock stood up from his seat abruptly and headed for the door.

"Oi! Where are you off to now!?" Lestrade followed Sherlock out and spied the slick black car waiting.

Lestrade knew who's car that was. He was forced in one a few years back when he first met Sherlock, he had no idea it was simply the man's significantly over protective brother at the time and he thought he would never be seen or heard from again when he got inside. He flinched at the memory.

"What's going on now?" Lestrade grasped the door handle after Sherlock got in the car to prevent him from taking off right away.

"John, he's… Mycroft thinks he might have found who has him."

He sighed. "Text me when you find out more?" he didn't want to admit how exhausted he was from spending the whole night at the station.

Sherlock nodded closing the door just before the car sped off. Lestrade spied a camera on a nearby building. "Big brother's watching." He muttered to himself. "Sherlock's to be exact."


	9. Jar Full of John

Chapter 9:

Jar Full of John

John's whole body was sore when he woke in his glass confine. He thought back to the previous morning and how wonderful it felt to wake up on Sherlock's plush scarf, truthfully it had been more comfortable then his own bed. _'Don't start thinking like that, this is all temporary.'_ . The smell of rotting jam was starting to really bother him, especially on an empty stomach. It bothered John that something he loved so much could cause him such frustration. '_Just like Sherlock.'_ He sighed.

He took a moment to take in his surroundings; someone had obviously moved the jar when he was asleep. John now sat on the edge of a shelf able to view the cluttered room with more ease. What appeared to be the front door of the residence was in clear view "It shouldn't be too hard to get through that, but it's a long drop down and I'm still in this damn jar." John bit down lightly on his bottom lip.

The jar was covered by a screw on lid, one without air holes he noted. Luckily his size meant he had a few hours to a day longer before he ran out of air. Stepping on the tips of his toes and reaching as far up as he could he was still a good two inches from the lid, which comparatively speaking was closer to two feet for him.

A knock from the front door diverted his attention. His elderly captor hustled out of another room and spied out the peep hole before opening it. John leaned against the edge of the glass but the outside of the door was still blocked from his view.

"It wont be up for sale until later today at the auction house, I have to get the best price after all."

"I am not an "it"." John muttered to himself.

"I was hoping I could make it worth your while to buy him beforehand." The voice outside the door sounded firm.

The old man laughed, "It's not everyday you come across something like this, it's worth a fortune at least!"

"Name your price, I'll happily meet it." the voice sounded oddly familiar to John but he couldn't quite place it.

John's captor licked his lips greedily. It was obvious he was trying to determine the highest possible amount he could get for John. The twelve-centimeter man was truly priceless, how could he possibly come up with a worthy amount? "Twelve million?"

"One for every centimeter? Fair enough, I accept." Even John could tell there was something off, that whoever this was didn't intend to actually pay that much money.

"Excellent. I'll give you a week to pay me, then I'll hand it over." The man smiled gleefully.

"I would like him now." It was a command not a request.

"Yes, well, I have to know that I will get my money." He narrowed his eyes.

"We'll draw up a contract. But a week is too long, I insist on having him now so I know I'm satisfied with what I purchased."

The old man didn't seem too pleased, but he stepped aside to let his visitor inside. "Alright."

John gasped. He was all too familiar with the well dressed psychopath that had entered. _Moriarty. _

"Where is he?" Moriarty's gaze swept the whole room, he clearly missed John's jam jar.

"Contract first, did you bring a lawyer by chance?"

Moriarty swiftly shut the front door and angled himself to force the old man backwards into the room he had previously emerged from. John could barely make out the quick flash of metal from Moriarty's pocket.

"Don't think I'll be needing one." He continued to push the old man further back into the house and eventually out of earshot.

John looked over the ledge of the shelf. It was a long ways down for someone his size, but he had often seen jars like the one he was in fall with minimal damage. Food jars were often made with kids and accidents in mind, eventually being made of safer glass. That didn't mean that the jar wouldn't shatter of course. John weighed his options.

A second knock came from the door. John froze, not sure if he had missed his only chance of escape. No one answered the door and the far away muffled voice of Moriarty stopped, likely listening to the knock and debating what to do.

The knock came again, firmer this time, but still no answer. _'Maybe the person would give up and leave?'_ This thought left his mind when small metal sounds came from the lock of the door.

Moriarty came around the corner brandishing his gun with a cocky smile. He waited patiently in the space the door would cover once it opened. The door opened a small crack at first, the intruder testing the waters. Cautiously, Sherlock stepped into view. John's eyes widened in panic, he knew his voice was too small for Sherlock to hear from that distance. Banging his fist against the glass only produced a small 'ping.'

"Great minds think alike after all." Moriarty's voice was sickeningly high pitched.

Sherlock clenched his fists and turned to look down the barrel of Moriarty's gun. He tried to refrain from scowling.

"Not trying to buy him before the auction starts are we?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"You know that's not fair. I have just as much right to have a little pet of my own." He smiled and motioned for Sherlock to take a seat,

"I rather stand." His face was an emotionless mask.

"If you wanted him back you should have put up missing Jawn posters."

The detective did his best not to cringe. "I see you haven't found him yet."

Moriarty's smile flattened a bit, "In due time." He cocked his gun. "You could help me with that you know."

Sherlock's jaw clenched.

"You're no fun! I could just as easily threaten the idiot in the other room, but you know I love to watch you work."

"This is a rather small apartment, likely only one way in and one way out."

Moriarty held the gun firm in his hands and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't come alone and it's likely there will be guns drawn on the house regardless of your presence here."

"It would be a shame to squish your little pet before I leave." Moriarty made an exaggerated frown. "Oh that's right, I didn't come alone either!" His fake smile returned as he took his cell phone out of his pocket. "Let's see how many bullets my favorite sniper brought along."

Mycroft waited impatiently in his car. He saw Sherlock pick the lock and walk in, that meant he should have been able to find John and come back by now.

"Damn him what's taking so long?"

Anthea shrugged.

Do you require assistance?- MH

He waited a moment for a reply.

I will enter unless you say otherwise.-MH

Mycroft huffed at his watch barely waiting for the response he wouldn't be getting before grabbing his broom despite the sunny day and stepping out of his car. He thought he heard a clicking sound in the distance but brushed it off. He eyes narrowed at the inch wide crack that Sherlock left the front door open. Mycroft scoffed "Idiot, if the owner comes home while you're in there he'll know something is wrong." He scowled at a sudden realization. "Sherlock _isn't_ an idiot."

The moment his hand touched the door handle he could feel a strange rumbling beneath his feet. He swung the door open as the tremor began making the house shake.

"Sherlock, where are-"

The door opening caught Moriarty off guard, he notice the shaking lamp next to him until it hit his arm. The gun fell and slid across the sleek wooden floor. Sherlock reached out to grab him by the shirt collar but the shaking ground gave him just enough time to slide by Mycroft and towards the door.

"Good luck finding Johnny boy!"

Sherlock wanted to run after him, but he knew if he had he would likely miss his chance to find John. He turned back towards the flat, eyes furiously scanning the room mid earth quake.

John's teeth chattered as his jar shook, every second brought him a bit more off the ledge. He tried standing at the far end in hopes of balancing the glass as long as possible.

"Mycroft! There's a man in the back room, ask him where John is!" Sherlock began ripping books off the shelves on the wall opposite of John, he couldn't hear John shouting his name.

Mycroft was furious someone could hold a gun to his brother's head only to bolt out the door a second later, but he knew there was no time to run after him. The small flat was crumbling around them but he still turned the corner to find an elderly man tied to a chair, luckily he hadn't been gagged.

"Where's Watson?"

The old man looked up confused.

"The tiny person?" Mycroft wanted out of the flat before something fell on him.

"You'll steal him from me!" he spat.

"He'll die if we don't locate him right now."

The old man frowned knowing his uninvited guest was right. "North wall, top shelf."

Mycrfot sprinted back through the doorway that separated the two rooms just as the shelf unit on the north wall slanted too far over. Mycroft dashed to hold it up before it fell on a hunched over Sherlock still mad with panic. The detective heard Mycroft moving behind him and turned in time to see a suspicious empty jam jar slide off the tilted shelf. He instinctively reached out just before the glass connected with the hard wooden floor. Just behind the label he could make out a clearly dazed John.

"I have him!"

The earthquake subsided as quickly as it began. Mycroft pushed the shelves back into place for his brother to stand. Sherlock quickly unscrewed the lid slowly tilting the jar on it's side for John to gain his footing. The doctor scurried out onto the inviting palm and grabbed onto the thumb.

"I thought I would never see you again."

"John, I had no idea you were so emotionally invested in my thumb." He smiled.

"I missed all of you, not your bloody thumb." His grip tightened. "Please take me back to the flat?"

Sherlock had subconsciously raised his hand very close to his face to better see his flatmate. Voice barely above a whisper, "Of course, and John- I missed you too." His eyes narrowed as he felt hot breath on his face. "Mycroft! You are entirely too close for comfort!"

Mycroft had leaned down to look at John but backed off after his brother's outburst. "I really still thought this was some grand hoax…"

Sherlock frowned and brought his second hand up as a protective barrier around John, "Well you can see clearly that it's not, now if you don't mind we would both like to go home."

* * *

Sherlock held John in his palms the whole car ride back to their flat, never taking his eyes off him. John sat quietly drawing invisible circles with his finger in the giant hands, occasionally looking up to see green grey eyes watching his every movement.

"I don't suppose it's my business, but why exactly is he lacking in size?"

"You're right, it's not your business." Sherlock shot back.

Mycroft tightened his grip on his umbrella handle, they were nearing 221b. "and you plan on turning him back when?"

John looked over at Mycroft, he stopped making his finger movement against Sherlock's palms. The answer that would follow made him nervous.

The detective was silent for a moment. "I'm working on it." the corner of his mouth fell downwards, he knew John was beginning to worry by the sudden lack of movement. He himself was terrified.

* * *

Once inside the flat Sherlock carefully placed John on his laid out scarf on the kitchen table, his eyes were down cast.

"John I…" he looked away.

"It's alright Sherlock, I know how hard you must have looked for me. It's really my fault the fire started and I got lost."

Sherlock was silent and his eyes remained looking off towards the wall at nothing in particular.

"Really Sherlock. I'm alright now. Besides, if you hadn't caught me in time-"

"But what if I didn't catch you in time!" His gaze suddenly returned to John. "What if Moriarty found your first? He could crush you with his hand alone John! Or that rat?!" He placed his hands on the table on either side of John to rise out of his seat. John reached out to place his hand on the forefinger nearest to him, causing Sherlock to stop and look at him harder.

"I knew you would find me."

"It's impossible to 'know' that."

"It's not. It's because you're brilliant." John smiled at the towering giant.

Sherlock's hand raised slightly bringing his forefinger up, John immediately wrapped his hands around it. Sherlock smiled. _'Why was John so affectionate suddenly?'_

"Oh, you should be hungry by now." He realized his small doctor had gone a night and morning without food.

"Starving."

"I can make you some toast with jam" Sherlock's hand started to pull away so he could find food.

"Erm, I think I'll pass on the jam…" he was sure he still had some on his clothes and desperately wanted away from the smell after so many hours.

Sherlock looked back at him momentarily, '_Why couldn't John always be this affectionate? Even if it was just his hand.'_

John noticed a strange look on Sherlock's face he didn't recognize. "What is it?"

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"eh.. but Lock- really, you can't just- I mean- I need privacy after all."

"No arguments."

John huffed. "Fine. But it's only until I'm back to normal."

Sherlock had a hesitant look again.

"Sher-lock…. I am… I mean, there is a way to get me back to my normal size isn't there?"

A brief moment of panic shown in Sherlock's eyes before he could mask his face with his expressionless look. "Of course. I just haven't found it yet."

The brief moment of panic was enough for John. "I could be stuck like this then…" he went quiet and looked down at the scarf he had nestled himself into, missing Sherlock's watering eyes.


	10. Having a Domestic

Chapter 10:

Having a Domestic

"John! You lied to me!" Sherlock's voice sounded hurt.

"What are you talking about?" The doctor still sat in the plush comfort of the blue scarf watching Sherlock mix various chemicals at the kitchen table.

"You told me you were fine but I can see from the way you are sitting that you are not, I nearly missed it before but your right ankle is obviously swollen."

"Oh, that. Well yes, happened last night when I fell down that damn hole- which we should really fix before Mrs. Hudson adds it onto the rent."

Sherlock's lips curled down, he didn't want John to find out that he had ripped up the floor boards in search for him the night before, that would most definitely be coming out of their rent.

"Let me have a look at it" Sherlock took out his small microscope and peered though it, John understood why he needed the microscope but it still made him feel self conscious.

"It's fine really, I just need to-" John's voice trailed off.

"Need to what?"

"Well, I don't exactly have anything I can wrap it with. I had sort of a cane last night, but that didn't last too long. It's not as if I've been doing a lot of walking lately anyway." John sighed.

Sherlock abruptly stood, walked out of the room and returned quickly with something in hand.

"Here." He handed his tiny doctor a small bundle of gauze. "It's a bit big for you, but it should tear and form to you easily."

John nodded and began to wrap his ankle, Sherlock would have done it for him but his hands were simply too big for such a delicate action. "That should do the trick for now."

Sherlock put his hands up in his classic thinking pose "Now that Moriarty know about _you_, I think he might make another appearance."

John was silent, he knew Sherlock was right. The mood of the room shifted when both men heard a distinct knocking at the door.

"Footsteps were too light to be Greg's or Mycroft's, but the knocking is much louder then Mrs. Hudson's." After hearing a soft clicking on the ground outside the flat Sherlock had figured it out. "Ah! Maria." His voice was sarcastically pleased and he remained in his seat.

"Well?"

"Well what? Oh, right. John, you should probably answer that," he smirked.

"Har bloody har. Do you mind?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, but I don't trust you on you own."

John's eyes scanned the oversized room. "Mantle?"

Sherlock placed John beside the skull, it would be difficult to run into trouble there, then answered the door. John looked for a good hiding spot just before he spied where his phone had gotten off to the past few days, blinking with missed messages.

"Sorry but I'm afraid John is still too sick to see you."

"I don't believe you." Maria voice was fierce and as soon as the door opened she stuck her heeled shoe inside the flat so the door couldn't be closed on her.

"Well that's unfortunate." Sherlock tried to close the door before realizing he couldn't, he scowled deeply.

"I heard you talking before you answered the door, so unless you are crazy and talking to yourself- which I wouldn't put past you- I demand to see John now."

"I told you he's too sick-"

Maria had pushed herself past Sherlock and into the flat. She quickly eyes the messy entry room. "Well I see he hasn't been cleaning up after you."

"I must insist you leave this instant-" Sherlock tried trailing after the woman heading straight for John's room. She grabbed the door handle and pulled with great force revealing the relatively empty room behind it. "He's not here." She wasn't sure if she had expected him to be there or not.

"Well obviously he left, had you phoned ahead-"

"You said he was sick! How can he be sick and unable to see me if he isn't here?! And I did call him, he hasn't answered his phone in three days now."

Sherlock shrugged, "Well maybe he's trying to tell you something." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

This only made Maria madder "You've done something to him!"

"You can accuse me all you want, but it looks like John just doesn't want to see you right now."

A small crash came from the front room, causing Maria to dash back in. "Damn it John" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

A small frame from the mantle lay on the floor with a crack in it.

"Aha! I knew you were here John! This isn't funny, come out!"

"Maria, really, he isn't here. Where could he possibly be hiding if he was?" Sherlock was smug, possibly too smug.

"This didn't fall by it's self." She clenched her teeth but another visual sweep of the room revealed there was no where big enough for a John to hide, and even if there was why on earth would he?

Maria's phone buzzed in her pocket.

Maria, forgot to tell you, I've been very ill for a few days, I went to the store for some medicine, but I'm still to under the weather to see anyone. Sorry about last night.- JW

The text was far too convenient for her liking. "Oh look at this, he says he's out at the moment." She put on a fake smile.

"Well obviously." Sherlock huffed.

Maria began to type and quickly hit send. The incriminating chirp of John's phone was closer then even she would have suspected.

"Ah, that must be Lestrade" Sherlock brought out his own phone in an attempt to mask the evidence against his flatmate.

Maria narrowed her eyes, it made no sense, the sound seemed to have come from the mantle. She stepped closer to it. Her mouth curved down until she realized she could simply send another text, quickly sending 'send' again. There was no noise this time, _John had put it on silent then._ "Aha!" she could see the faint blue light appear just behind the skull.

"And how did he text me if his phone is right here?" he eyebrows suddenly furrowed. "Wait… how the hell did he text me." There was no way he could sneak up right next to her and leave his cell phone on the mantle after texting her.

Sherlock huffed loudly and stepped towards her. "I would appreciate it if you would leave my skull alone."

"Oh get off it. How did he do it?" her tone was flat.

Sherlock stared quizzically.

"How did he text me just now? He obviously didn't plan for me to find his phone there, but then how and why did he get it there while I've been standing here?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Her lips tightened into a thin line. "Unless his phone was there the whole time. But then… well he couldn't have texted me if he wasn't close enough to the phone himself. She peered at the skull hesitantly as though the answer was looking her right in the face. Her hand instinctually went towards it.

"Ah! Not my skull! That is very important to me!" Sherlock tried to knock her hand away.

Maria stopped before her hand touched it. "Oh what am I doing! You are so maddening." She huffed and turned to leave until a hair-raising sneeze came from the skull. Sherlock clenched his jaw.

Maria grabbed the grinning skull up immediately, nearly dropping it a second after in shock.

John sat crossed legged on the mantle, he had hidden in the gap the jaw provided.

Sherlock hastily grabbed the skull from the stunned Maria with genuine concern for it. "I told you to be careful with that." He muttered.

"J- J-…." She felt as if she were about to faint. "YOU!" She turned to face Sherlock who was placing his skull on the other end of the mantle. "What have you done to my boyfriend!?"

"mm. Strong word don't you think?" Sherlock scrunched up his nose.

"What?" he tone was just as abrasive as a moment ago,

"Just that you haven't even been dating for that long. He's certainly dated plenty of women longer and doesn't refer to them as girlfriends. I haven't heard him call you that either." He knew this would get him in trouble with John later, but he also knew that he would eventually be forgiven for it too.

"Gah! You are an absolute maniac!"

John sighed. Sherlock would be Sherlock no matter what state he was in. He smiled all the same when the long pale hand came down beside him offering a lift.

"Well anyway, as I have previously informed you, it looks like John isn't fit to go out with you at the moment." The corner of his mouth curled up as the doctor stepped into his palm and sat.

"Give me him." It was a demand rather then a request.

Sherlock blinked not understanding what the impossible woman wanted now until she held her hand out toward him. "No. Absolutely not."

"He's my _boyfriend_!" she put an emphasis on the word boyfriend.

"And he's my friend." He spat back putting his other hand around the flattened one protectively. "I can't possibly trust you with him. What if you dropped him?" his words were filled with venom.

"Drop him?! You're probably the reason he's like this to begin with!" Sherlock flinched at this. "You'd probably forget about him or stick him in a jar for experiments you freak!"

That was too far. John stood up and pushed Sherlock's second hand barrier aside. "MARIA!" he had his commanding Captain John Watson voice. "That's enough! Just leave, please."

"John I-"

"No! Just go, you've said quite enough already." His whole body felt hot with rage. _She had no right! No right at all to say something like that about his Sherlock! _"He has done nothing but look out for me and care for me, more then he does himself." He muttered.

Maria let out an exasperated sigh. "John just- just tell me when you're, erm, better. Or if you need anything." She waited for a moment expecting him to answer her, but he didn't.

"Goodbye then. John?" She turned before walking out the door. She huffed, clearly agitated by the lack of response and left.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was significantly softer then when he was talking to Maria. Sherlock looked down at his palm with his full attention. John sat and placed his open palm against Sherlock's massive one beneath him. "I'm really sorry about that."

"It's fine John." Sherlock's voice sounded slightly off. "She'll forgive you." His gaze was suddenly distant,

"Hmm? Oh, no, I really don't care." John laughed awkwardly. "I know she'd forgive me. I don't think I would forgive her though."

Sherlock rested his palm on the table, John stepped off and stood towards the edge. "Not seeing her again then?" he leaned down trying to make his eyes parallel with John's body.

"Nope." John smiled lightly, which highly confused the detective.

"And that's good then?" he crinkled his nose.

"In this case, yes." John had his arms behind his back and stepped closer to Sherlock leaning his head forward just enough to rest his forehead against the tip of Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock smiled. "You've been rather… _affectionate _all day."

"Oh, sorry." John stepped back.

"It's alright. Just, curious as to why. Why now?" he brought his fingers up near John but stopped just before reaching him.

"Just realized how much I appreciate you I suppose."

Sherlock's smile widened greatly. "Oh, I was suppose to text Lestrade that I found you, he helped me all night." He brought his phone out and rested his hands on the table as he typed out his message. John ducked under the phone and came up on Sherlock's side to see what he was writing with a nod of approval.

Found John, he's ok and safe now. Thank you for last night. John thanks you for looking after me. - SH & JW


	11. Cuppa

Chapter 11

Cuppa

Thank God! Do either of you need anything? –GL

Nope, we should be fine. Though if you could make me tall again it would be much appreciated. –JW

No offence mate, but I'm pretty sure you were never 'tall.' –GL

John is sulking now, rather amusing actually. He seems prone to offence since the accident.- SH

Woops, sorry about that! Just meant it in good fun, John will be back to his regular self right?- GL

"Boys! Boys!?" Sherlock could hear Mrs. Hudson fumbling up the steps just in time to cover a sulking John with his palm against the table before she came in. "Oh Sherlock, is everything alright?"

The detective angles his head quizzically.

"I heard shouting, was John's lady friend just up?"

John felt Sherlock's fingers cringe around his tiny body as he lay against the hard wood. _He's still upset then. _He thought with a frown forming.

"A woman was just up and left, yes." Sherlock's voice was void of emotion.

"Oh Sherly, you didn't scare her off did you? You don't want to upset John now."

Sherlock wanted badly to protest this comment.

"Speaking of which, where is John? I haven't seen him around the past few days, you two haven't been having a domestic have you?

"No. He's- We're fine."

"Oh alright if you say so, just don't be getting jealous of his lady friends now-"

"Mrs. Hudson!"

Anyone else would have been taken aback by the tone of Sherlock's voice, "Now now quiet down. I'm just trying to say that boy needs some time."

_Did she just call me a 'boy?' Bloody hell I'm 40! And what on earth is she even talking about?_ John quickly readjusted his body as another jittery cringe drew Sherlock's finger's closer. _Bah! Why does he keep doing that!?_

"Oh and before I forget I brought you boys this."

John heard something relatively heavy plop down on the table near him.

"Now behave yourself Sherlock." Hudson smiled and patted her tenant on the shoulder before leaving.

Sherlock left his hand over John for a moment longer before slowly lifting his fingers up.

John let out a sigh "What did she bring- Sherlock? Why are you making that face?" he wasn't sure how he could describe Sherlock's face at that moment other then a combination of embarrassed bewilderment combined with sarcastic amusement.

"I believe that is meant for you." The sly crack of his smile shot a shiver down John's spine.

John winced, unsure of how he felt.

"I thought you would be pleased, strawberry is your favorite flavor of jam isn't it?" He smiled at the large homemade jar before them.

"I don't think I can eat jam for a while…"

"Pity, that's a life time supply at your size."

"Maybe a bit…"

* * *

"How could I have ever thought it was too soon for jam?" A chuffed John sat crossed legged licking thick jam off his hands.

Sherlock smiled as he watched his small companion, "That's disgusting John!"

"Well I can't exactly use a spoon." John smiled back before looking down at his hands and frowning. "I didn't plan this out well."

"That's why you have me." Sherlock stood up and poured a cup of hot water placing it down in front of John.

"Not sure how I'm suppose to drink that."

"You're not. Now take your clothes off."

"Excuse me?!"

"I go through the trouble of making you a Jacuzzi and this is the thanks I get." He puffed his lower lip out and pouted.

"Ugh, fine- but just the shirt, I'm not exactly wearing anything under my trousers."

"You'll have wet pants all day, unless of course you want to wear them in the cup and then go without them while they dry."

John was agitated. "Well… I didn't want to say this but, I should probably you know… get more clothes. It's already been three days now and…" his voice trailed off.

"and you don't know how long this will last." Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Right. So if you don't mind, could you uh, get me some more?"

"Of course. It's close by anyway."

John looked at him with an expression Sherlock had a hard time reading.

"This would be a good time to ya know. Privacy and all that."

"Oh, right. Uh- hm." Sherlock paused awkwardly.

John had already started taking his shirt off careful not to get jam on it, a faint smile on his lips. "It's alright, you can stay till I finish."

Sherlock looked at the small man not sure if he had heard him right.

"I can tell you don't want to leave me in the flat alone, and I can't blame ya."

"I- I just don't want to lose you again. I'll be in my mind palace." Sherlock brought his hands up and shut his eyes quickly to back out of the conversation at hand.

John shook his head, stripped his clothes, and awkwardly climbed into the steamy teacup. Had he not had his back to Sherlock he would have noticed the larger man's up curling mouth and occasional peek as he pretended to be in his mind.

The water was hotter then he was use to but he found himself relaxing into it. It had been fun taking a swim in the sink the other day, but the warmth from the cup surrounded him now. Taking in a deep breath he submerged his head and curled into a ball at the bottom and rustled his hair in the water. He shot his head back out with a sigh leaning it on the lip of the cup and briefly closed his eyes.

"Oh." John looked down as a blush creeped across his cheeks. Swinging his head over his shoulder he checked that Sherlock was still in his mind palace. _'John, what on earth are you thinking? Your flatmate is right there behind you.'_ He sunk a bit deeper into the cup. '_and that same flatmate has been watching every second since your shrank… EVERY second!' _his hand quickly brushed over his firming member making him shudder. _'No no no, he's right there!'_ his mind seemed to scream and to his surprise that only made matters worse. _'ok, just be quick about it, he's not aware of what's going on anyway.'_

Sherlock was bent on his ruse, but when he heard muffled moans both his eyes shot open to make sure nothing had happened while he wasn't looking. _'he's not… he wouldn't… my god he is.'_ He bit his lower lip and watched intently until John had clearly finished with a louder moan. Sherlock snap his eyes shit knowing John would want to look back to make sure he wasn't watching.

A few moments later John found he couldn't step out of the high walls of the teacup without slipping, especially with a sprained ankle.

"You look like you could use some assistance."

John nearly shrieked. "You said you were in your mind palace!"

"I was." he lied and grabbed a small dish towel so John could dry off. "Or I could just leave you in there and you can figure out how to get out on your own. Choice is yours."

John grumbled. "Damn it, just help me out will ya?" he was too embarrassed to ask when the detective had come back to the waking world.

John felt cool fingers wrap around his waist and gently pull him up and into a towel. He blushed deeply and hid himself in the significantly oversized towel. "Er, thanks.

* * *

A/N: When Mrs. Hudson calls Mary John's 'lady friend,' I had originally put the word 'girlfriend', but then thought this would be funnier as well as imply Mrs. Hudson doesn't want to address that John dates women instead of Sherlock. XD

And did Sherlock just watch John get off in a teacup?! Yea, that totally just happened. :) (Almost didn't happen. I struggled with my decision to include that.) :/ Yea, I never write stuff like that. Practice makes perfect? :D maybe?


	12. Little Soldier Mine

Chapter 12

Little Soldier Mine

As promised, Sherlock took John to the highly acclaimed doll shop just three blocks down via pocket travel. John had a hard time restraining himself from peeking outside of Sherlock's pocket, he didn't like being cooped up inside for so long.

"If you don't wish to be seen then you should stay in there."

"It's too hot" came the tiny whisper.

"Shh, we're here." Sherlock stepped inside the shabby shop.

Although relatively small to other shops in the area the store was filled with dolls of every kind and size, most of which were significantly larger then John.

"Hello?" Sherlock got no response. "Hmm, the clerk isn't around and likely hasn't been for several minutes now." He reached in his pocket to pull out John.

"Ah! What are you doing! What if someone sees me?!" He scrambled to his feet once Sherlock placed him on a shelf at his face level with miniature clothes.

"Oh John, you worry so much! There's no one here right now and if anyone comes in I'm sure you can pretend to be a doll."

John crossed his arms and pouted, "I am NOT a doll!"

Sherlock leaned close and smiled fondly. "Of course not. You're my little soldier man."

John could feel his face heating up but he refused to look away, "Very funny." He tried to use the most sarcastic tone he could muster.

Sherlock shot him a wistful look before turning towards the register, "Pick out whatever you want." Referring to the clothes.

Next to the register was a plain small parcel with Sherlock's name on it, after inspecting the contents that he ordered when he had first come to the store two days ago he put it in his interior pocket. Contemplating the other item in his pocket that he had brought with him he looked back at John who had changed into a striped shirt yet no longer seemed enthused about the new wardrobe selections.

"John I-"

"Sherlock wait. Just tell me. Am I stuck like this? Indefinitely I mean." Sherlock stepped closer to him noticing the wetness of his eyes. "I'm sorry, I know I keep asking and so does everyone else but- well, it does change a lot."

"It doesn't have to change that much. I can still take you places, work together and-"

"That's not what I mean! I'm sorry… but it's not. I know you're trying very hard, and I do appreciate that. Taking me out is probably the only thing saving my sanity at the moment. But this is all that my life will ever be if I am stuck. I can't work, or even see people. I'll just be hidden in your pocket from the world."

"I'm very selfish John."

"It's ok. I know you didn't mean for this to happen."

"No- I mean…" he stopped mid thought and looked away.

"What is it? You can tell me you know."

Sherlock breathed out nervously. "I like having you all to myself John." He still didn't make eye contact. "Always knowing where you are… you depending on me for so much. I know that's selfish. _Wrong_. But I also want you back. I'm afraid that might be for selfish reasons too."

After a pregnant pause John pushed, "Go on." His voice was light and sounded strangely understanding of the self proclaimed sociopath.

"I want you to make me tea." Sherlock's tone was flat.

"That's… that's why you want me back to normal? So I can make you tea?" John's brow furrowed not sure if he should believe what he just heard.

"Yes. And clean the flat up after me. Get mad at me for sitting to close while in a cab. Run after me when I'm chasing a criminal down, place a blanket on me when I've fallen asleep, force a plate of food in front of me, wear disguises and go undercover, fall asleep on my shoulder during stake outs-"

"Oh." John finally understood.

"There's more, but again, selfish reasons."

"No… no, those aren't selfish Sherlock."

"Hmm? But those are all things that only fulfill my wants. I don't care that you can't work at the hospital or go on dates. I don't even feel _guilty_ about it. Well, I've never felt guilty about anything, but if I had I think I still wouldn't now. John? Why are you smiling? Are you not listening to what I'm saying? Shouldn't you be mad at me?"

"Sentiment." John stated matter-of-factly.

"Sentiment?"

John nodded.

"You forgive me because of _sentiment_?"

John nodded again, "That's also why you want me back. Sentiment."

Sherlock gave a confused look. "That's selfishness, not sentiment."

"Wrong."

"Then why don't I also feel guilty?" he thought he won his point with this.

"Also sentiment."

Sherlock grumbled, "That doesn't even make sense!"

"Does to me. You just don't realize it."

Sherlock was flustered. "I don't understand." He felt like pouting.

John licked his lips. "Come closer."

Sherlock's face was right next to John, slightly lowered so his eyes would be paralleled with the small man.

"I shouldn't have doubted you. Of course you'll figure something out." He whispered before closing the gap between him and Sherlock's nose, pressing his lips against it in gentle kiss.

Sherlock's eyes widened as his pupils dilated, "John I- what- I don't understand."

"I don't really understand either, but it's ok. I think I- well, it doesn't matter for now." He looked down at his feet, knowing sometimes size does matter.

Starting to catch on to what was happening Sherlock rushed his words out, "But John, it does matter! It matters very much, please."

John looked back up at the swamp grey green eyes that were locked on him. "I think I might, well, you see-"

"John, I do believe I love you."

John was suddenly at ease and shook his head. "Sherlock. I'm such a fool, why didn't I see it sooner?"

Sherlock bit his lip.

"I love you too." He was almost knocked over by the enormous cupid's bow lips that softly landed on the top of his head with a kiss.

* * *

Sherlock inspected the newest crime scene with renewed vigor. A middle aged woman lay dead across her living room floor. She was both short and blond like all the other with the exception of the second victim at the night club.

"The second body…" Sherlock mumbled to himself.

Greg looked up at him, "The second one that died?"

"No- the club, that's the only case of a double homicide. The second victim is the only one that doesn't fit the pattern. Why?"

"I thought that one was an accident-

"Don't be daft. That one was personal. But not the actual target. That's what this is all about. Why they all look similar, why they're all lesbians. Lestrade don't you see? The dark haired one- she must have somehow personally known the woman this is all about, that's why she was killed."

"Well, we should look to see if she had any friends that looked like the victim then."

Sherlock froze. "I know who the main target is."

Donovan and Anderson had been standing close enough by to hear Sherlock talking to Lestrade but hadn't become involved in the conversation yet since that would mean putting up with Sherlock's rude remarks about them.

"Well come out with it freak, who is it?"

"Lestrade, if I could have a moment." Sherlock grabbed the D.I.'s arm and stomped quickly away from the scene where it was more private, causing Donovan to shrug in annoyance.

"So, who is it then? She'll need to be brought in for questioning and police protection if you're right."

Sherlock brought a finger up to his mouth to make the 'shushing' silence gesture, then pointed to his breast pocket.

"Hmm? Oh-" Lestrade tried to cut himself off quickly.

John had been kipping in the warm pocket of his _friend?_ _Boyfriend? Man he had just kissed and confessed his love for?_ He would have to work that out later. _Soon later. _But the moment he was trying to figure out why everything was so uncharacteristically quiet. If Sherlock had been alone he would have taken John out or at least talked to him. So that meant people were around but no one was talking. _Odd._

Seeing no better way to communicate his message without alerting his pocket guest, Sherlock pulled out his cell phone.

John's sister Harry. She knew the dark haired girl, she's short, blond, and is a lesbian. -Sh

I think you could be right. We have to bring her in and I'm sorry, but you have to tell John.- GL

Sherlock looked away awkwardly before giving the D.I. a confirming nod.

* * *

"I don't understand, why would someone be after Harry?! And besides, she's not exactly hard to track down, anyone could just grab her off the street the way she goes about drunk at night." John paced Lestrade's desk frantically with the blinds closed on all the windows.

"They aren't actually after Harry, John, they want to scare her."

"But why? She doesn't have any money. There are far more affective ways to get her attention and other then her friend dying I'm pretty sure she doesn't know about the other girls."

Sherlock put his hands up in his classic thinking pose. "You're right John."

"And another thing- what? Did you just say-?"

"Yes, now don't push it. If they weren't trying to scare her then maybe they are trying to scare someone that knows her and would be affected by her potential death or that someone is threatening to kill her."

"Well she and Clara never got back together and I don't think she has too many close friends."

"It would have to be someone who would be aware of these other victims popping up, someone who would immediately see the connection and become concerned."

John stopped his pacing and shot Sherlock an annoyed grimace. "That would be me Lock."

"Oh."

"Fuck. Are you saying someone is trying to threaten me with Harry's life?"

"It would seem so."

"I don't even have enemies! You do! Who the hell would be targeting me when they would have to deal with you?"

"Hmm. Who indeed,"

"Damn it Greg! Yes! I'm small! I get it! You don't have to put you damn face so close to me all the bloody time!"

Lestrade who had been quietly observing John straightened up and flushed faintly. "Sorry mate."

Much to the D.I.'s surprise he caught Sherlock cracking a smile. "You get so flustered John."

"Well I don't enjoy being inspected so closely."

"You didn't seem to mind me doing it."

"Well- That's different." His tone was significantly less hostile now.

"Is that so?" his palm was flat for John to climb up on.

"Quite."

Sherlock felt every movement of the fragile yet still strong John in his hand as he caressed his thumb. "Lestrade, we're going to go inspect Harry's flat just to make sure no one was keeping tabs on her." Greg nodded in agreement of the plan. He refocused his gaze on the man in his palm "Mhm, the things I would do to right now if you were big enough little soldier mine."

John was sure not only his face but his whole body had gone red the second Sherlock said that before being put back into the pocket. Lestrade debated whether he had heard wrong, Sherlock was being stranger then normal, or if he really had just caught something eye popping.

"Uh- right- uh- get back to me on if you find anything in the flat then." He had awkwardly turned away to pretend he was looking for something important in a filing cabinet.

"Of course inspector."


	13. Dollhouse

Chapter 13

Dollhouse

Harry's flat was cleaner then John remembered it. There were still cans of beer and empty bottles of wine scattered around, but not a pile up of them like there had been a few months ago. It also looked like she had started picking up and vacuuming the place.

Sherlock went through Harry's personal affects quickly in hopes of finding a clue as to who was targeting her. Of course it could all be for nothing, that the killer has no ties at all towards her, just John.

"Sherlock?" a small voice from his pocket beckoned him.

"Mhm?"

"Mind looking in the fridge for something? We uh, haven't stopped for food yet."

Sherlock glanced at a near by clock, "Later then I thought." He placed John on the kitchen table before opening the fridge.

"Well look at you, remembering when to eat." John smirked.

"I simply forgot to feed you is all."

John's expression quickly dropped, "Feed me?! What is that suppose to mean? I'm not a pet Sherlock!"

The detective sighed, "You know what I meant and besides, I thought you previously reprimanded me for eating food found at the place we're investigating."

"My sister's house hardly counts and it's not like I need much anyway."

Sherlock opened a small Tupperware of casserole and placed it next to John. "I don't think I'll find anything here." He grabbed a fork full of casserole for himself.

"Erm, about earlier, in the doll shop."

Sherlock stopped his fork midair before getting a second bite, "Yes?"

"Where um, does that put us?"

"Put us?"

"I mean, we're you know." Judging the expression on his flatmates face he really didn't know. He cleared his throat_, right, this is gonna be like the solar system again_. "Would you like to be in a relationship? With me I mean."

Sherlock's eyes lighted up in an unexpected way. "Yes, very much so." He wanted nothing more then to pull John in for a tight kiss, but he knew that was impossible at the moment.

"So we're partners then?" John smiled.

"We were already partners." Sherlock teased and took another bite from the tupperware.

"Well-" _Might as well say it, it's not like you've ever had a problem calling someone your girlfriend before._ "Eh, boyfriends then?" he asked nervously.

This time John did fall backwards as Sherlock laid an unexpected kiss on the top of his head. "I like that." John could feel the air from Sherlock's words against his body.

* * *

The Blog of John Watson

Been out for a few days with the flu, I'm still feeling very feverish and I'm not sure when I'll be up for leaving the flat again. Sherlock's still working on cases of course and has been surprisingly helpful at taking care of me while I'm ill.

Comments:

Harry: Still? I might have to pay you another visit then, maybe bring a board game. ;)

Mrs. Hudson: You're home? Oh goodness I have been worried sick.

John Watson: Don't worry Mrs. Hudson, I've just been upstairs asleep this whole time.

Mrs. Hudson: Darn that Sherlock, he should have said something. I'll bring you some food deary.

John Watson: Thank you but there's really no need!

Mrs Hudson: I really don't mind and I must insist. But just this once, I'm not your cook after all.

Maria: Liar

Sarah: Well you could have at least called in sick today and yesterday. I'll just not count on you coming in then until you say otherwise.

John Watson: Sorry about that, probably for the best.

Harry: My John. You sure have an awful lot of women that comment on your blog. –Wink-

Sherlock Holmes: Yes John, you certainly do.

John Watson: Too bad, I'm not on the market anymore. Sorry ladies!

"Oh very funny. It takes you forever to run across your keyboard to type and that's what you decide to write?" Sherlock scoffed from the couch.

John stood awkwardly in front of the movie theater sized computer screen. He wasn't sure if Sherlock wanted him to post anything about them being an official couple yet, he usually would become very flustered whenever John posted about his life. He looked back at the screen to find a new message.

Donovan: Finally with the freak then?

John knew Donovan was just making fun of them again, she often posted rude cutting remarks like that and people knew not to take her posts seriously. '_Why does she even comment on my posts?'_ John could hear Sherlock let out a small frustrated sigh he obviously didn't intend for him to hear.

Harry: Well I hope you kiss and tell! Who's the lucky gal?

John Watson: I don't know who you are talking about Sally, but for everyone else, yes, I am _officially_ in a relationship with Sherlock.

John stared in horror as the messages suddenly poured in faster then he could keep up with. "What have I done?" he breathed nervously.

Donovan: You're joking right!?

Maria: You bastard!

Harry: I'm so proud of you! You two make an adorable couple! I'm taking you two out for drinks!

Lestrade: Why did I not see this coming? Congratulations you two!

Mrs. Hudson: No wonder you don't want me bringing soup up! Have fun now!

John reddened from embarrassment at Mrs. Hudson's last comment and couldn't bring himself to read the following comments that were still pouring in. That woman had no shame with her constant implications.

"John!" Sherlock quickly stood up.

"Shit. I'm sorry- I didn't think that-" John was cut off as he was swooped up in Sherlock's hands and violently attacked by his plush lips landing chaste kisses all of his body.

"Agh! What are you doing?"

"Oh John, I love you so much."

"You're not mad then?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad? Now everyone knows you're all mine."

John chuckled lightly, "Ah, the jealous type." _Not that that was necessarily a bad thing._

* * *

The case was still bothering Sherlock, he still couldn't find anything that would make someone want to threaten Harry or John assuming he was on the right track. He had been in his mind palace for 10 minutes trying to find anything he might have missed when a knock came from the front door.

"Sherlock, door." John was still amusing himself with the literally hundreds of comments his blog now had from people he didn't even know congratulating him and claiming they knew this would happen.

"Sherlock? Oh, right, _mind palace_. It'll just have to wait then." He sighed and went back to his blog.

A moment later metallic clicks came from the lock.

"Shit, Sherlock! Snap out of it!"

"Hm? John?" By the time Sherlock opened his eyes the door was already swinging open to reveal his well dressed enemy.

"Didn't even look to see who was at the door? Now that's just rude." Moriarty grinned. "Uh-ah, sit back down Sherlock, did you really think I wouldn't bring a gun?"

Moriarty stepped inside the flat followed by Moran toting an assault rifle. "What happened to you gun hmm? Oh that's right! Your pet is too small for it now!" he quickly spotted John on the table and grabbed a glass beaker, pouring out the content and trapping John in it in one swift movement. "Can't have you running off now."

"What do you want Moriarty?" Sherlock tried to keep his composure.

"What do I want? I want the world Sherlock, and I want it handed to me on a silver platter. But for now, I think I will settle with having your heart, preferably burned out of you." He grinned. "Sebbie, knock him out will you?"

Sebastian hit Sherlock's head with the butt of his rifle instantly causing him to lose consciousness. John looked on in disbelief.

"Oh don't think I've forgotten about you now Johnny boy. I could always squish you to death, but the thought of having you smeared under my beautiful designer shoes is horrifying." Moriarty made a mock scared face. "Sebbie! Do that thing you do when you get rid of a bug for me. You know when I catch one in a cup and you flip it upside down? We'll need to bring Johnny boy with us after all if we want to have some fun.

* * *

Sherlock didn't remember being hit with the gun, only that his vision had suddenly darkened. When he came to he was strapped to a chair facing a table that held a dollhouse.

"Oh good, you're awake! I've just been dying to play with you you know."

Sherlock struggle against his restraints to no avail. "Where's John!?"

"Eager to start playing eh?"

The detective eyed Moran who was standing back with his rifle still trained on Sherlock, they had clearly left 221B and were now in a warehouse of sorts. He couldn't make out any distinguishing features though.

"Pay attention instead of trying to deduce where you are. Even if you did figure out your location it wouldn't do you any good. Besides, I've gone through all this trouble of making a play house for your little toy."

Sherlock looked back at the dollhouse, it was obviously a custom job. Rooms alternated between being a girlish pink painted wood filled with doll size furniture viewable through glassed windows and completely see-through rooms made of plexiglass. John stood in one of the clear rooms contained inside a small plexiglass box that had a door mechanism that's hadn't been released yet.

"This is idiotic! What is the point of all this?" He could tell John was alert and nervous, but he could see why yet.

"You see but you don't observe Sherlock. Here, let me give you a demonstration." Moriarty pulled a plain brown bag from under the table and stuck his hand in menacingly. "You'll love this bit." He pulled out a smaller sized rat, opened a tab on the far side of the doll house that John wasn't at and put the rat inside, quickly closing the tab back up.

"You've put him in a dollhouse full of rats? No offence, but I really did expect something more original the that."

"Have patience." Moriarty smiled.

Sherlock tried blinking, there was something moving inside one of the wooden rooms but he couldn't make out what it was through the tiny window. The rat sniffed around and began walking about the clear room he had been freed in. The movement was so fast that it barely registered in Sherlock's mind. The creature bolted out of the wooden room and into the clear one attacking it's prey at lightning speeds. The bite was deep and steady but the rat still kicked it's hind feet in a desperate last attempt to get away. The long hair legs wound themselves around the rat quickly and hauled it back to the wooden room next to it to feed.

Sherlock's eyes widened dramatically. "Theraphosa blondi" his voice just over a whisper.

"Lovely isn't she? There's six Goliath Birdeaters in there. So that makes five more that haven't been fed in some time now. Oh! And how could I forget! You get to play along too! Just look above you."

Sherlock looked up to see a very large plexiglass box 5 feet above his head containing a beehive.

"No spiders big enough for you I'm afraid, but I heard you were fond of bees. So I got you a whole hive of them timed to be opened in 30 minutes."

"I'm not afraid nor allergic to bees."

"Oh I know, that's why I got killer bees. Well, Sebbie and I are off. Have fun now. Oh, and once the bees are released the house will go up in flames regardless of whether one of the spiders gets your little pet or not."

* * *

A/N:

Weird fun fact: apparently John's birthday is July 7th, the same day that sir Arthur Conan Doyle died…. Sherlock's B-day is unknown, but there is an argument that it's January 6th. Also none of this has anything to do with this chapter. :D


	14. John Has A Plan

Chapter 14

John Has A Plan

Sherlock struggled fiercely against his restraints with every inch of his being. Before leaving Moriarty flashed a wicked smile and started a clock that had been set up near the dollhouse, causing the door keeping John in his small cube within the dollhouse to open.

"Only a genius could get out of this one, think you'll disappoint me?" He casually strolled out with Moran behind him. He wasn't sure if the detective really could think of a way out or not and that uncertainty excited him to no end. He wanted very much to win their game of cat and mouse, but winning was boring when it was too certain.

Sherlock's mind was failing him for an answer, but John's was not. The moment the hatch opened he went into soldier mode. He quickly assessed the wooden room in front of him through the small door; it was clear. Turning around to see the door behind him he could see the faint movement of long limbs. He dived through the door to the empty room in one fluid motion. Garish pink wallpaper was peeling off the splintered wood of the walls behind the cheaply made and non-functional furniture. It was clear to John the original wooden structure had been chosen to remind him of his current size. Through the door he could see the creature coming for him at a quicker pace then he had initially anticipated. The small wooden frame caused the tarantula to take additional time, it's limbs struggled to reach John. The small man knew his only options were flight or fight. He had been listening to Moriarty though, there were six tarantulas in all, one was mere inches from him, though compared to his size it was more like a few feet, one was occupied with a rat at least for the time being, which left four more that could be anywhere in the dollhouse just waiting for him. He couldn't take a chance by running through another room, there could be one around any corner, and with this one already hot on his trail, having two after him would most definitely end in death.

A flimsy doll bed complete with bedposts sat in the corner of the room. John grabbed on of the posts and placed his foot on the frame of the bed as he pushed all of his strength into ripping it apart. Had it been a normal bed he would likely have no chance, but luckily doll furniture was made of the cheapest possible wood and didn't make too much resistance for the former soldier. He gripped the post awkwardly yet firmly and whacked at the limbs that were nearing him.

Finally the spider broke through the entrance turning it's fat abdomen to the side and forced John against the wall, post falling to the ground. The spider pinned him and backed it's head slightly before it's strike. John grabbed the leg on him forcing his nails up the joint socket in the exoskeleton. The spider suddenly let go making a noise John wasn't aware tarantulas could make before then. Without a moment's hesitation he slid down with his belly now parallel to the spider that launched forward to strike and hit the wall instead of it's prey.

Sherlock watched in horror through the tiny window of the pretend bedroom. He was mad the scene wasn't taking place in one of the clear rooms so he could see if John was still alive or not. He knew his blogger would die regardless of where he was. Theraphosa blondi was the most intimidating arachnid nature had ever produced. It's common name 'Goliath Birdeater' came in part due it's sheer size, it was the largest tarantula in the history of its evolution and in the wild they were known for launching out of trees and devouring birds. It's speed was no laughing matter. They had even been known to kill chickens and small dogs, dragging the carcasses off to be eaten. John was doomed.

The detective's heart raced as he saw John narrowly avoid death as he attempted to force his nails through the opening of the exoskeleton. _Smart John, clever John. _But then he quickly lost sigh of him again, had he slid under the spider?

"John! Go for the abdomen! It's the weakest point!" He clenched his teeth, he didn't know if John was already dead or not.

John grabbed his jagged broken post from the ground. The tarantula had already begun to turn around and strike again when he thrust the post through its abdomen making a gut wrenching cracking noise as it penetrated the hairy shell to reach the soft organs inside. He had expected it to die instantly, but didn't. The legs slashed wildly at him grabbing him a few times and accidentally letting go in pain and confusion. A moment later the legs stopped moving so wildly and fell to a light twitching.

One down.

"John! Make as little noise as possible! They can't hear you but they can feel the vibrations of sound and can track you that way."

_'Good to know._' John thought as he ripped a second bedpost off.

He carefully stepped into the following room, this one was clear and gave him a better look at his tied up boyfriend as he awaited death. John could see something he had only seen once before, fear in Sherlock's eyes. He knew then that the genius had no plan of escape, couldn't see one at all. Lucky for him he had John, and more importantly, John had a plan.

If it wasn't for the sound vibrations he would have tried to comfort Sherlock, instead he just had to soldier on and try to make it before the timer went off.

"There's a tarantula three rooms to your left, it hasn't seen you yet. The third is occupied with a rat, it likely wont bother you for some time, even if it sees you, best to avoid it regardless. The other three are downstairs."

John gave a sharp nod and firmed his grip on his post.

Sherlock hadn't expected John to take out the theraphosa blondi, he should have been outmatched in strength and speed by a hundred times. What he hadn't counted on was that despite the impressive intelligence of the creature, John outsmarted it. He felt an odd sense of joy when he realized this, but he wasn't so optimistic about the following spiders.

'Why didn't he just stay put? He will run into all the tarantulas if he walks around like that! What is he thinking? Of course he'll die anyway if the house burns down.'

Sherlock looked at where a fuse sat unlit next to a lighter that had surely been set up to light up once the timer was out.

"Twenty Five more minutes."

He could see John give a nod as he stealthily entered the next room.

"The floor is cheap plywood." He mumbled to himself as he watched the lighter ominously. "Cheap plywood!" He saw John's plan now. He might be able to get through the floor once he reached the bottom, even if he couldn't the fire might weaken it enough or burn it away to allow him through. "John you're a genius!"

John smiled. He wasn't sure how much of his plan the detective had worked out yet, but knowing he was slightly more at ease lightened his step a bit. He was a soldier damn it, and he sure as hell wasn't going to die without a fight.

"The stairway is in the next wooden room, the spider is on the other side near the door."

Right. John judged the space between him and the stairs. How long he could creep near without the spider hearing, or rather feeling his bloody vibrations before it saw him. He crept stealthier then he ever had in his life. He pressed his back against the final doorway; he knew once he entered the room the spider would see him. He glanced through the plexiglass at Sherlock, he could see he was leaning as far forward as he possibly could to watch John. John inhaled deeply and lunged forward to sprint down the stairway. The tarantula spun around and was after him in the blink of an eye.

"Shit shit shit shit shit." He knew he was suppose to stay quiet but he couldn't resist mumbling as he ran for his life through a doll house of all places.

Once again Sherlock struggled against his restraints. Bolts kept the legs of the chair pinned to the cement floor. He tried jerking his feet to break the chair legs but he didn't have enough leverage from where the rope tied his legs down.

'Please make it John. Please. One of us needs to make it out alive.'

John turned just as the spider jumped to grab him, his swung the post like a bat hitting the tarantula square in the abdomen sending it flying off the stairway and onto the floor below. Sherlock recognized the sound that followed all to well and cringed at what he knew John must now be looking at.

Funny thing about tarantulas. When they fall and hit something hard, they explode. Not a pretty sight.

"Fifteen minutes John! They probably heard that, get out of there." Sherlock couldn't see where the three tarantulas downstairs were hiding, which means they were in somewhere within the wooded rooms he couldn't see into as well.

John pried at the floor with his hands; it wasn't thin enough there. He would have to find a room on the corner of the house were it would be more likely to be flawed and easier to rip apart.

"JOHN! There's one coming from my right, get the hell out of there!"

Knowing how fast these things could move he ran for it without thinking twice. He got damn lucky twice on speed, he didn't think he could do it a third time. Post still in hand he ran through three rooms without thinking. He just wanted the hell away from the thing that was likely chasing him and to find a weak point in the floor to make his escape. Clearly Moriarty didn't plan for him to get this far. Both geniuses seemed to never give him the credit he deserved. Foolishly he ran right into another tarantula that hadn't registered him yet. He quickly drove the post through it's head causing eye juice to get on him. This was definitely the worst day of his life now and he would have gladly been shot again in Afghanistan if it meant not being here now.

John briefly considered blocking one of the doorways with furniture but when he remembered how firmly the first spider pinned him he realized the flimsy wood would never be enough to stop them.

"Ten minutes John!"

The tarantula was already entering the room, John had to back out without retrieving the post from the newly killed spider. This one had a smaller abdomen then the first and had no trouble following him into the next plexiglass room. It grabbed John's leg with two of it's massive limbs and began pulling him closer for the bite. John fell to the ground but kicked fiercely with his free leg hitting the tarantula in the face. It only paused his attack for a moment before continuing. John rolled quickly to the right, the spider missed but reared to strike again. He clenched his jaw and while it's face was parallel with his he reached out and thrust his fingers through three of it's eyes. The spider unexpectedly let go and jumped back for a moment giving John just enough time to stand and promptly empty the contents of his stomach on the ground after realizing what he had just done.

In it's confusion the tarantula turned around, John jumped on it causing it move violently beneath him but unable to reach him.

"You're bloody brilliant! Kick it's abdomen!"

_Easier said then done._ John had a hard enough time just staying on top of it. John was the kind of person that would become upset if a small spider had fallen on his clothing, now he was riding one like a bull at a rodeo. Nothing will ever scare him again.

Four kicks in and he could finally hear the crunching of the abdomen giving way beneath his feet. Once it was open he gave one more thrust exploding the contents onto the floor. He scurried off and out of the room.

"Five minutes." Sherlock's voice was quieter now. If John didn't know any better he would say Sherlock was nervous, but Sherlock never did 'nervous'.

Sherlock looked up at the beehive contained behind glass above him. "John… these past two years, they were the best years of my life. Meeting you, in your funny little way, you changed everything. The work- it still mattered, but it was no longer the only thing that mattered."

_'no no no no no. He's talking in past tense now.'_ John ran towards the edge of the house closer to the flame that was near being set off. '_Four minutes'._

"I love you John."

John looked up, he had finally reached the corner room and thankfully it was another plexiglass one that allowed him a good look at the man he loved. He jerked his head back down. '_Focus! You don't have time for that now.' _He pried at the boards with his hands and then kicked at it with all his strength. He was worn from fighting off the tarantulas, but he sure as hell wasn't about to give up, not when he was so close.

"Three minutes." Sherlock breathed barely loud enough for John to hear. He could tell the detective had already given up on surviving. "When you're free, leave at once. Try to find Mycroft, he'll…. He might be able to help you." _At the very least he'll keep you alive for me and make sure you're fed and taken care of. _Sherlock sighed. He ruined both their lives. His mind wondered to the contents of his pocket. _Useless now._

The flame started, John jumped back and quickly looked back at Sherlock who in turn looked back at the clock.

"It went off early." He looked up at the bees still in their place. "Four minutes more for them now. John… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this. For everything."

John stood back as the fire slowly turned the wood around him black and warped downwards. A spider crawled in through the door and spied him. '_Damn it come on.'_ John began kicking the blackening floor, it finally gave way, he had just enough time to push it down, flames now licking at the edges up towards him. He jumped through the barely big enough hole not minding the flames. He was much thinner the spider and the creature didn't want to risk being burned to go after food it seemed. John was out. '_Three Minutes.'_

It wasn't enough time. He bit his lip and waited a moment as the fire quickly spread, loosening the wood inside. It licked up the peeling wallpaper inside and melted the glue that held walls together. John grabbed at the bottom of the side panel of the house, it was hard to do, but the it finally came apart. He dodged the wall falling on him and quickly got to work. Parts of it were still on fire and the house next to him was slowly burning down, but none of that mattered now.

_'One Minute'_

"John! What are you doing? Run, slide down the table leg or something, GET OUT!"

"Not Without You."

He pushed the wall until it reached the arm of Sherlock's chair. The detective could move his hand just enough to stabilize it as his tiny blogger ran across the blazing wood and reached him.

"You can let go now." Sherlock did as he was told.

John fought against the thick rope that bound Sherlock to his chair.

"It's no use, you're not strong enough."

"Yes I am!" John grunted as he did his best to loosen the knot to no avail.

"Thirty seconds…. JOHN! Quickly, climb to my pocket." Sherlock's face was suddenly an emotionless mask.

"What?"

"My inner coat pocket, just do it, now!"

John climbed up the detective's sleeve, across his collar, and slid down the front till he reached the inner pocket. Inside he found a plain envelope that contained something that bulged it out a bit and-

"What's this?"

"No time, bring it to me.

"But this is!"

"It's that or die. I wasn't able to reach it before. John please…. It was… a last resort."

The words hit John hard. _'A last resort,'_ there was little time left, he climbed back up one handed holding the vile in his other hand.

_'In case he didn't find a cure... he planned to...'_

Sherlock bent his neck down. The panel on the plexiglass case fell open, killer bees beginning to flow out. He grabbed the vile with his teeth and tilted his head back to swallow the greenish substance. It was a significantly larger amount then John had spilled into his cut. Sherlock could feel the internal burn immediately.

"Get back inside that pocket, hide." John did as he was told, he could see a sudden jolt of pain running across Sherlock's face. He had been lucky. The amount that got into the cut on his hand was a much smaller dose, the process had taken the entire night. This would take mere seconds.

John ducked his head inside the interior pocket, it was a very strange sensation to feel the fabric go slack around him, material dropping to the seat of the chair and an ominous buzzing from above. He dared a look outside the pocket and saw a movement in the fabric near him. He instantly ducked down again.

"It's just me. You can come out."

John pocked his head out again, "Sherlock! You're alive." He was beyond relieved.

"Thanks to you." He smiled brightly. "Now if you don't mind I'll be needing that package next to you."

John went wide eyed. "You're naked."

"And about five inches tall, but as you have already mentioned, alive."

John pushed the envelope out, landing close to Sherlock who started opening it, and he climbed down out of the pocket to join him. Sherlock was already half dressed when he got there.

"What the hell is this?"

"Clothes? What does it look like?"

"You custom ordered an exact replica of your suit, coat, and bloody hell, that's a miniature blue scarf you prat,"

"And it's not nearly as soft as the original but it will have to do for now."

"You've planned this from the start haven't you?!"

"The idea that I might not find a cure did pass my mind and it seemed to be a good idea to plan ahead just in case."

"But you've been carrying tiny clothes and a vial of that damn stuff in your pocket this whole time?"

"Not the _Whole_ time, and besides, it came in handy didn't it?"

"But now you're stuck like this! Stuck like me. And no one is nearly as smart as you to come up with a way back."

"Thank you,"

"That was not a compliment! Why the hell did you plan on doing this to yourself?"

Sherlock stepped closer to his now relatively speaking taller blogger. "Because even if I couldn't find a way to get you back to normal, I didn't want to miss out on this forever." He leaned forward and met John's lips with his. Their first true kiss as a couple.

John tried to force the water back in his eyes, "You git. You ruined your career you realize." He pulled away to look into the eyes he could finally take in all at once.

"That's yet to be seen." He brought the doctor back closer to him to continue the kiss and felt himself smiling against the surprisingly soft lips.

"What?" John's voice was playful, he knew they should probably plan their escape now and find a way back to their flat from the warehouse and try desperately to find a cure for both of them, but he couldn't help himself. He was finally, _finally_, holding and even kissing Sherlock. His Sherlock. His boyfriend. "Why the smile love?"

"I'm taller then you." And he continued to smile after John hit him in the face.


	15. Journey Home

Chapter 15:

Journey Home

I can't believe it! Is it really true that you and John are now an item?- GL

Well congratulations mate, I knew you two had something special.- GL

There's been a development in the case, I need you down at Scotland yard as soon as possible.- GL

Unless the 'situation' has changed I know you two aren't shaggin each other's brains out, so get down here. –GL

I hope to god you haven't invented a new accommodating way to do it either.-GL

Greg's phone buzzed in his pocket, he expected it to be Sherlock with a lead and explanation why he wasn't there, what he didn't expect was Mycroft on the other end of line.

"Erm, hello?"

"I believe someone may have abducted my brother, I need you to form a search party immediately."

Greg spluttered, "What?- When? How?"

"The CTV cameras outside his flat have been having bad static, I wasn't sure if it was a natural malfunction or not at first, but going over the footage I was able to make out someone carrying Sherlock out of the flat, likely unconscious."

"Shit. Any idea where they might have taken him? And what about John?"

"I'm on my way to 221b now to check, it's a delicate situation after all and I doubt he'll even come out if I send someone in my place. But there's a good chance he was likely taken too, impossible to tell by the state of the footage though."

"Right. I'll need to send some people to search there too, I'll wait till you've finished though."

Twenty minutes went by, Lestrade had several officers out looking for Sherlock, it felt sickeningly useless.

John is definitely not here, might as well send in forensics now.- MH

* * *

Lestrade was surprised to see Mycroft was still in the flat sitting in a chair with his umbrella by the time he had arrived with forensics.

"Oi, what's this bloke doing in here?"

"Sod off Donovan, it's Sherlock's brother, he was closer to the flat so he came ahead in case there was anything time sensitive." It was close enough to the truth anyway.

Greg thought back to the one and only time he had spoken to Mycroft Holmes in person. Lestrade had found Sherlock drugged out of his mind in the ally behind a popular club with two dead bodies half naked. The police thought he was just high when he sat crossed legged by a trash can and deduced the entire scene and the two bodies, solving the crime in mere minutes. No one had believed him of course and some of the officers on scene wanted to lock him up for the night believing he had committed the crime himself. He was too far gone to even protest it. But somehow Lestrade knew that there was more to the disheveled looking addict and took it upon himself to bring him into the station without handcuffs and even force a decent meal on him. It would turn out to be one of the best decision the DI had ever made, believing in Sherlock. But it also earned him a terrifying car ride to an abandoned parking garage the next day.

The interrogation was short, Mycroft had offered him money to report back to him about Sherlock, which he refused to do, and officer of the law can't be bribed, or at least he refused to be. Despite his harsh tone at the time, the elder Mr. Holmes seemed pleased by his responses. But since that night there only contact had been via chaste phone calls about leads for cases and which cases needed priority for political purposes.

Seeing him now resigned and seemingly depressed in the shabby flat was almost a surreal experience.

"Erm, Mr. Holmes?" he took a step closer but was still a good distance away. The forensics team had already started dusting for prints and looking for any scrap of evidence as to what happened that they could find.

"Mycroft is fine." His eyes looked past the detective inspector distantly.

"Right. Well, I'm sure we'll find him."

"I doubt that. He'll show up again if he's able to, but only on his own accord. It would take a rather clever individual to get the upper hand on him, so there wont be much to anything to go on."

"We're doing our best at the-"

"It's Moriarty you know."

"Er, how-?"

"When Sherlock and I went to gather John back from his little misadventure, Moriarty was there. Threatened he would be back. I should have taken more precaution of course. Damn. What was I thinking?" His shoulders tensed harshly at this.

"You really couldn't have known, I mean, there are cameras all over this city…" Lestrade felt uncomfortable at the though of everyone's movements being followed all the time by cameras, "I'm sure if anyone would have been able to see it coming you would of." He coughed awkwardly. "Besides, John had just updated his blog, and what a post phew, but still, one wouldn't think something could have happened so quickly afterwards."

Mycroft looked up perplexed. "Blog?"

Lestrade looked about nervously, "Uh, yea, you know John's blog right?" his mind raced, surely Mycroft must know about it. "You know, where he writes about all of their cases?"

"Of course I know of it, boring read really, not sure why people read it. Besides, he just posts things I already know about anyway. You're acting as though this new '_update_' is different though?"

Lestrade was not prepared for this. "Well, a bit yea. I mean, it was really short, just, yea." His eyes darted across the room nervously. There was a good chance Mycroft already knew about his brother and John, but in case he didn't, Lestrade had no idea how to tell him or in what way he would take the news.

Mycroft looked suspiciously at him down his nose, "Well?"

"John, he- Well, they're official now apparently,"

"Official? They've gone into business together?" his eyebrows furrowed.

He's more like Sherlock then I though. "I meant more of the romantic assortment." He chuckled nervously.

Both of Mycroft's eyebrows rose dramatically. "Oh."

_Well I hope to god I wasn't the first one to say his brother way gay. _Lestrade thought during the horribly pregnant pause in conversation.

Mycroft blinked a few times before standing up, "Sorry… bit shocked truthfully."

"Yea, sorry bout that, I should go check on forensics." Lestrade turned to leave for the other room but stopped when he heard a bemused laugh.

"Never thought _my_ Sherlock would win him over. Dr. Watson continues to surprise me."

Greg couldn't help but smile at this. "And I didn't think Sherlock could ever see anyone that way."

"Wherever those two are right now I just hope they're together, they're both lost without each other."

* * *

Using the now excess fabric of what Sherlock had been previously wearing, he and John made it off the chair and easily slipped under the gap between a door and the floor. It was dark and colder out then they had expected.

"Now what?" John was beyond relieved that it looked like they would both live to see another day.

"Not sure where we are yet. My perspective is rather off in this state."

John sighed, "You're telling me?"

Sherlock jumped back dramatically with a yelp, John tried to sturdy him "What is it? What's wrong?" Sherlock's eyes went wide and John followed were they pointed. "Oh lord… biggest cockroaches I have seen in my life… lets get out of this ally shall we?"

"Lets."

The two continued through the area blindly, everything was far too large to make out any distinguishing features and recognize where they were. They eventually found themselves in a park trekking through shoulder length grass.

"Oh this is just ridiculous! John, I can't stand this anymore." He scrunched his nose up.

"Well there isn't anything I can bloody do about it is there?" it felt like they had gone several kilometers, and comparatively probably had, but he knew they probably had only gone half of one.

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh but continued on. Having no idea where he was going or which way was home was driving him mad. "Well, you could at least take my hand." He huffed.

John looked at him in surprise. "Oh. I uh, didn't realize…"

"No, of course you didn't." he continued on.

"Hey! Wait a minute now, what's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing." Sherlock slunk his shoulders down and tried to make his face emotionless, John could still see the hint of annoyance.

"Just stop, what are you on about?" John stepped in front of the detective stopping him in his tracks.

Sherlock tried to avoid eye contact. "You haven't said it yet."

John's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"At the shop, at home after you updated your blog, even in that damn warehouse."

"I'm sorry, I'm not following, what?"

"This has obviously all been a misunderstanding." Sherlock tried walking past him but John blocked him once more.

"Just hold on, I don't even-"

"You haven't said '_I love you' _even though I have multiple times now. You have previously claimed on numerous occasions that you are not gay, obviously I have miscalculated." This time Sherlock did manage to slip past him and trudged through the annoyingly tall grass.

"Sherlock…" John just stood there a moment before his mind could catch up with him, he sprinted after the detective, "Wait, Sherlock! I- I'm sorry. I didn't realize I hadn't, I swear."

"You probably just have impaired judgment from the chemicals. Just forget all of this."

John grabbed him by the overly slim waist. "I'm sorry, I really am. Of course I love you. I love you with every bone in my body."

"Bones can't feel sentiment-"

"Oh shush." John pulled him in closer and raised himself on his toes to kiss the back of Sherlock's neck. "Mine apparently do."

Sherlock looked down, glad his blogger couldn't see the pitiful expression on his face at that moment. "But you always say you aren't gay."

"And you for reasons beyond me claim to be a sociopath, which you clearly aren't. Not to mention implying you're asexual every chance you get."

"I do not imply that at every chance John." He turned to see John's bright brown eyes peering deeply into his.

"Just don't dash off ok? I love you. I really do."

"I love you John." He pressed his forehead against the shorter man's. "Still _not_ gay?"

"You're the only bloke I've ever fancied. I may be Holmesexual." John smiled wryly.

"You do realize I don't exactly have your _desired parts_ though right?" He leaned down and pressed his lips against John more fiercely then the last time.

John grabbed the waist of Sherlock's pants and pulled him closer, "Actually I don't think I mind."

Sherlock could feel John's firming erection and much to John's surprise he immediately pulled back

"Sherlock? What is it? I thought…"

"We should really try to find our way back before it gets later." His voice was uncharacteristically nervous.

"Yea… yea, of course." He gently took Sherlock hand as they walked. "Sorry, uh, if that was too soon."

Sherlock looked down and didn't answer. After a moment he looked up quickly "Get down!" he pushed John to the ground and ducked his own head.

A massive stripped grey cat pounced and missed them. He hunched his shoulders up after realizing he missed his target and got in position again. John tried to stand again but Sherlock quickly pushed him out of the way and then fell back as two plush paws pinned him, a horrible hissing coming from above.

"Hey now! Don't you start with me Tobby!"

"Tobby?! John, it's going to eat me!" Sherlock struggled to get out if the furry weights realizing the cat must have been de-clawed. His hair was splayed in every direction. "I'm going to die…. JOHN! Why are you laughing at me?!"

The enormous cat face came down to sniff the squirming detective and sniffed him. Sherlock let out a not too manly scream before the rough tongue licked his hair.

"Tobby! Down boy." John sprinted over and began rubbing the monster's ear.

"John it's going to kill me, please John please, save me!"

"Relax Sherlock, it's Tobby." The cat was lying down and released the struggling detective. "It's Molly's cat remember… no, you most definitely would have deleted that."

Sherlock quickly scooted back but hadn't stood yet, mortified that he had been screaming for his life. "It…. it tried to kill me, you saw it." he avoided eye contact with John at all costs. He could feel him walk over and kneel down next to him making his face go hot.

"Oh Lock, you were not meant to live like this. Come here." John picked him up by the waist and dusted some of the dirt off his coat.

"You're better at being small." He was still looking away.

"Only because you're use to being a bloody giant." John smiled. "Now then, I think I've found a way home."

Sherlock looked up, face less red but still noticeable for a very bemused John. "How so?"

"Molly has no life."

"I'm not sure how that relates to our dilemma."

"She trained her cat." John climbed up the side of the cat and held onto it's collar tightly.

"No, no, no, and a million times no!"

"It's not going to eat you, I promise."

"John, I don't want to be small anymore."

"I know. Just climb up."


	16. Boyfriends

Chapter 16

Boyfriends

Sherlock grabbed the tufts of grey fur and made his way up the cat, taking John's hand to make it to the creature's neck. He positioned himself directly behind John, placing his hands around the shorter man's waist bringing him closer. John held on to the cat's collar.

"Ready?" John could feel Sherlock nod his head against his back. John pulled on the collar but the cat didn't move.

"You do know how to get her to go home right?" Sherlock asked skeptically.

"Come on Tobby, go home." He pulled on the collar again, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Mittens, dinner." As soon as the deep baritone voice called out the cat leaped up and began dashing through the park and then down a thankfully empty street. Sherlock's grip tightened around John.

* * *

Earlier:

"Boss I really don't think there's anyway they could get away." Moran stood awkwardly in the doorway of a control room set up with tv monitors with his rifle hanging from his shoulder.

"Shut up. Of course you wouldn't be able to find a way out, that's why he's a genius and you're a hired gun." Moriarty shot back as he focused on the camera watching John dart down the hallway of the dollhouse. He smiled wickedly, "This one doesn't like to give up."

_'Does he want them to escape?'_ Moran shifted his weight.

"You're thinking too loud, shut up."

"I'm not even talking." He looked up, surprised to see his boss was no longer smiling. "What's happening?"

"He's killing my spiders! He's suppose to be dead already."

"There's plenty more spiders, don't worry."

Moriarty quickly spun around to face his sniper, "Worry? You think I worry about anything?" his voice was cold but venomous.

"N-no boss! I didn't mean it like that, honest." He subconsciously put a hand on his gun and stepped back.

"Nothing in this world happens unless I want it to happen, you understand that? If Sherlock and his little pet die, it's because I want them to die." He slowly stepped closer to Moran. "And if they both live, it's because I want them to live. Do you understand me?" he was now inches away from the now terrified sniper.

"O-of course." He looked down into the dagger piercing eyes staring at him. Moran was one the world's deadliest men and yet this single man could bring him to his knees. He wasn't sure he quite understood it himself. A monitor behind Moriarty caught his eye, "Uh boss, the fire started already."

"What?" he turned to see the dollhouse prematurely lit up, "Good. He'll have to watch his pet burn to death before the bees then" The screen started to blur and had static line interrupting the feed. Moriarty's eyes narrowed. "What is this? What the bloody hell is wrong with my screen?"

Moran sat down near one of the computers, "I think we're getting interference."

* * *

Mycroft was about to leave his brother's flat when his phone chimed.

"Mycroft Holmes. Anthea? I don't see how that relates to… oh. I see. Yes, send the car around and I'll be right down."

Lestrade looked up, "News?" he hopeful but still prepared for the worse.

"Fire downtown in an empty warehouse. Could be nothing but…" he paused to see the DI was hanging on his every word. "Earlier before we knew Sherlock was taken, I was scanning various cameras when I came across some interference in that same area. I assumed the cameras were just down at the time, now I'm not so sure. Well, I'm off then."

"I'm coming with you." The detective inspector began following him downstairs.

Mycroft met him with an inquisitive raised eyebrow.

"It's my job to find them."

"Very well then Gregory." A long black car rounded the corner as they came down the stairs of the flat.

"It's just Greg."

* * *

Moriarty switched cameras to ones in the ally. Smoke began draining from the seems of the warehouse but no one came out. It wouldn't be long before the bees dies of smoke inhalation, which would make the detective and his tiny associate long dead by then. A fire engine could be heard coming down a nearby street.

"Well that was called in fast. Hope they don't start putting the fire out before the bees die, that could be quite the problem." Moriarty grinned. "Turned all the cameras off, we have other places to be now."

"But we don't know if they died or no-"

"I said turn them off! We are leaving now." He stared his sniper down.

Moran quickly nodded once and obeyed only pausing when he saw the sleek black car on a street camera also headed towards the warehouse.

"What are you waiting for? Oh, oh how very nice. Looks like the government has come to find the charred remains of his brother. How very rewarding."

* * *

It took longer then expected to put the fire out. Lestrade and Mycroft waited nervously before it was safe to go inside.

"This could still be a coincidence you know." Lestrade tried to reassure the red haired man.

"No. Did you see those bees that flew out? I doubt any one other then me knows it and I'm still not sure what the connection here is, but Sherlock has a secret passion for bee keeping."

Lestrade wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Bee keeping? Really?"

"Better then wanting to be a pirate I suppose."

A fire officer nodded to give them the go ahead to go inside. The two put on breathing masks and entered with caution. The air was thick and dark with the remains of the smoke that had previously consumed the place. As they walked through the wet sleek mess they noticed hundreds of dead bees on every surface.

"Mycroft! Come over here, what do you thin this is?"

In the center of the room sat the remains of a badly charred table, now collapsed on the ground. On top layed piles of melted plexiglass and bits off wood. The DI kneeled down to inspect it better.

"This is…" he held up a miniature cabinet. "I think it's some kind of dollhouse?"

Mycroft clenched his fists. "First bees and now this? I don't like the looks of this."

"Well I don't see a body anywhere." He lifted one of the only remaining pieces of wood up and immediately jumped back with yelp. "Holy mother of god!"

"What?! What is it?!" Mycroft pushed past the DI to get a glimpse of a massive eight legged creature run through the rubble. "You scared the life out of me!"

"It was huge!" Lestrade tried to regain his breathing while also backing the hell away from where the tarantula ran. In the poor lighting he bumped into something behind him, he turned to find an oddly placed chair, the majority of dead bees where around it. Stranger yet, the chair had loose ropes tied to it with a pile of clothes on it.

"That's Sherlock's coat." Mycroft practically whispered as Lestrade freed it from the chair. It was filthy from soot and water. "I really don't like this."

"I know, keep calm, he's not here. Maybe he made it out?"

"Well if he did, he did it in the buff." Mycroft picked up the rest of the clothes, noticing it made a full outfit.

"It wouldn't be the first time."

* * *

"John! Slow this damn thing down!" Sherlock yelled across the racing wind as Tobby dashed through yards, gates, and scaled up fences.

"I don't know how!"

The cat came to an abrupt stop nearly flinging the two tiny men off its neck. Tobby then casually strolled through a plastic flap on the back door of a small apartment and pranced up to an empty food bowl where it sat patiently.

"Sorry Tobby, you'll have to find someone else to help you with that." John pat its head and slid off, followed by Sherlock.

"Let's never do that again."

"Agreed."

"Now then. This shouldn't be too hard, we just need to wake Molly up and she'll figure out what to do." Sherlock looked around for what could indicate a bedroom door.

John blinked. "Well, I'm glad we're not lost and all, but what exactly is she suppose to do? We can't exactly stay at the flat anymore."

Sherlock headed down the hall through the atrociously lumpy carpet that could really use a wash and towards what he believed to be Molly's room. "I have no idea what you're talking about, why wouldn't we go back to our flat?"

John let out a loud sigh, "How would we get from one end to the other? We can't even open a fridge Sherlock. Until at least one of us is big again we're going to need some help."

"I'm… I'm really sorry about what I said earlier." The detective stopped walking and turned to face his blogger. "I can't say I'm thrilled to be reduced to riding cats, but I'm glad I did this. It's why I had the vial after all." He placed his hands on John's shoulders. "I'm just not use to it yet. But it's worth it if I get to be with you. Forgive me?"

"You git." John smiled fondly, "Of course I do. And hopefully you wont have to get use to being small."

Sherlock planted a chaste kiss on John's forehead. "Mycroft is our best bet for a cure, but I refuse to stay under his watch no matter what the circumstances are. Besides, we still have a case to solve."

"God, I almost forgot about that."

They entered through the crack of the bedroom door, it was dark but an illuminated alarm clock allowed them to climb up a blanket that hung off the edge of the bed. John grabbed Sherlock's arm leading him across a pillow and onto a nightstand, flicking a switch to turn on the small tableside lamp.

"Molly! Molly wake up!"

Sherlock stood at the edge of the table analyzing the room. _'Still single, no plans on leaving St. Barts, ah went to dinner with her mother last night. Still mourning her fathers death.'_

"Cut that out and help me wake her!"

Molly's eyes fluttered open and she quickly sat up. "Hello? Is somebody here?"

"Molly! Down here!"

"Oh my god John!" despite wearing a nightshirt she pulled her blanket higher over herself. "How did you get in my flat?" She more confused then anything.

"We sort of need your help, we got lost and we're trying to make it back home. Or well, at least somewhere safe."

"Where's Sherlock? I thought he was watching after you?"

"I'm here." He walked closer to the edge away from the lamp. "Watching each other now."

Molly gasped, "What have you done to yourself? Oh you two!"

"I need you to retrieve my coat for me from a warehouse on-"

"Your coat is gone, just deal with it. Besides, you're not wearing it anytime soon."

"John, that was rude and uncalled for. That is my favorite coat and I'm sure no matter what damage has been done it can be fixed-"

Molly's phone went off.

Need you down at the lab as soon as possible. –GL

It's the middle of the night –Molly

I know, it's an emergency. I'll explain when you get here. –GL

"If that's Lestrade asking you to come in for an emergency could you take us with you?" Sherlock tried but failed to get a better look at the phone.

"How did you-" Molly stood and grabbed some clothes to change into.

"You have no boyfriends or close friends that would be messaging you at this hour of the night. Your face showed that the text was of some importance and you immediately began getting ready to leave." Sherlock smiled smugly. "See John, I can still solve cases."

John sighed and shook his head. "I never doubted you."

Molly left to change and when she reentered with a purse to carry the tiny pair in she was met with a very unwelcomed sight. "You're…."

Sherlock broke away from John's lips, "and you thought everyone read your blog."

John blushed a deep red as he turned around. "Molly, we uh…" he didn't want to break her heart like this, he knew the poor girl had a crush on Sherlock for ages.

Sherlock pulled John close so his back was against his chest and tucked the shorter man's head under his chin; arms wrapped around him snuggly. "John's my boyfriend."


	17. Alive

Chapter 17

Alive

Nothing could have prepared Molly for accidentally walking in on her recently shrunken crush of the past two years senselessly snogging a man and then revealing they were in fact a couple. She had never once believed the rumors that had gone on about them, especially since John had been so adamant that he was 'not gay.' A strange phrase to use in retrospect considering he never clarified that he was straight, just 'not gay.'

"B-boyfriend?" Molly stuttered leaving John even redder then before. "But John's-…"

"Finally come around." Sherlock only held him tighter.

Molly gulped, trying to suppress the feeling of her eyes watering over, "Well, I should get going, here-" she held out the shallow purse for the pair to climb in before she called for a cab.

* * *

"Well I suppose this is where we part way Gregory." Mycroft looked solemnly out the sleek black car's window as he still clutched the soot damaged and slightly damp coat from the warehouse.

"It's just Greg." The D.I. began to get up but paused, "You can come if you like… I mean, Molly could help find something on his coat and I'm sure you'd like to be the first to know."

Mycroft turned to evaluate the expression Lestrade was giving him. '_Sympathy?'_ "It's fine. If there's a development I'll be watching on the CCTV footage anyway…" _'No, it's more then just sympathy'_

"Oh, right. Well, it's alright if you want to be there in person too." His voice was barely above a whisper. _'He probably watches the Yard all the time… bit creepy.'_

Mycroft glanced down at his watch 11:55pm. He knew he was too worried about Sherlock to sleep tonight. "Alright,"

Lestrade was already out of the car by the time Mycroft answered, "Really? Oh, well good, great. Uh, just this way." _'Stupid, of course he knows which way it is.'_

Mycroft quickly adjusted his suit jacket as he joined Lestrade on the other end of the car, Sherlock's cutting statements about his failing diet really were affecting him. '_I'm not even that fat.'_ He would always tell himself but he never truly believed the words.

_'Wow, British government dresses pretty damn nice._' "Molly- erm, she's a lab assistant, she should be here soon." No sooner had he said that a cab pulled near by and Molly got out paying the driver. "Oh good, we need you in the lab right away." _'Why did she bring a purse?' "_And here, take this" Lestrade leaned back inside the car for a moment to grab Sherlock's coat and handed it to Molly, "See if you can find anything interesting on this."

It was a short walk to the lab and took the whole time before Molly recognized the thick now damaged fabric she was holding. "But… this is Sherlock's?"

Lestrade made sure the doors to the lab were closed and that no one else was around.

"Molly, I know this may be hard to hear, but it looks like Sherlock's been kidnapped, probably John too. We need to locate them as soon as possible."

"Oh but they're both here." She said without thinking and promptly moved her hand to cover her mouth, "Erm, I mean they're both fine, I saw them." She had no way of knowing Lestrade and Mycroft both knew of John's condition.

Mycroft eyed the purse that hung off Molly's shoulder as if it were empty knowing there was no reason why someone would bring an empty purse with them. "I see, so you have John in there? Where's Sherlock then?"

"Oh, er, I didn't know that you knew… well, actually they both are." Molly put her purse down on the counter and began to open it.

"What do you mean by both…" Lestrade stopped short when he realized why exactly Sherlock's clothes would be in an empty warehouse but not him.

A tiny Sherlock climbed out of the hideously colored orange purse and gave John a hand to follow. "We are not missing, but I do appreciate your concern and the return of my coat." He eyed his prized possession, "Wha- what the hell did you do to my coat! It's filthy!"

"It was in a fire- Why am I arguing? Sherlock, what the hell happened, why are you so small?" Lestrade was exasperated from stress for the night.

John had a harder time of crawling off the purse and onto the counter, "I'm fine too thanks for asking." He muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, right, John's hungry, Mycroft- surely you brought food with you?"

"Shut it Sherlock! Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?"

"And what was I suppose to do? Climb up a building and wave in one of your cameras? Oh, also I will need you to find someone to take over my research and work on something to return us to our previous states if it's not too much to ask, also I need you to dry-clean that." He gestured towards his coat now sitting on an empty table.

"You can't even wear it."

"I will be able to and that's hardly the point, it's mine and I want it pristine. The one I'm wearing is a pale comparison."

After the initial shock of discovering the pocket size John now had an equally pocket sized detective, the question of 'What now?' was on everyone's mind.

"Well it's late and I should be getting home," Mycroft cleared his throat, "I'll just uh, take them both with me then."

"Why on earth would we go with you? Lestrade, if would, could you kindly take us back to our flat?"

"We've been over this, we can't go there on our own Lock, how on earth would we get around?" John hated the thought of going with Mycroft just as much as Sherlock did but they didn't have much of a choice.

"Lestrade, you've been using a different shampoo for the past few weeks and coming to work earlier despite looking better rested-"

"No, Not today, you are not deducing me!" Lestrade gritted his teeth together knowing exactly what the miniature detective was getting at, missing the quirk of Mycroft's eyebrow.

"I'm just suggesting that instead of living in the hotel that's draining your bank account dry as you search for an apartment after you finally got the dignity to leave your cheating wife- that you could stay in our apartment. It would be mutually beneficial for the moment."

John leaned in close to Sherlock's ear, "That was really rude, you don't just talk about things like that in front of people."

"That was hardly a bit not good, they've been separated for over a year now but neither had the money to move." He stated matter of factly.

Lestrade coughed nervously, "Erm, well- is that alright with you?" he looked at Mycroft knowing he would likely want to be the one responsible for his brother's safety. "You could come over and check on them whenever you like." He offered as compensation, it really would be beneficial for him to stop living in a shady hotel.

Mycroft considered his options, he wasn't joking when he had told John all that time ago that he worried about Sherlock constantly. As much as they bickered he was still his little brother and he would be damned if he let anything happen to him knowing he could prevent it. Even now he noticed Sherlock wore a miniature blue scarf in placement of the one he wore almost daily. Mycroft highly doubted his brother had ever told a soul that the original has been a gift from him when Sherlock was in high school and got a cold. Mycroft knew Sherlock was only sick because he never took care of himself, he didn't even own a scarf before that not realizing he needed the added warmth on cold days. It was why through all of Sherlock's cutting remarks about his weight and intelligence he knew his brother secretly cared as well.

"I may be stopping by whenever I have a free moment." _'I'll have to rearrange my schedule to see him.'_

"Good, well, I best catch a cab then."

"Nonsense, I'll have my driver take you."


	18. Lake House Murder

Chapter 18

Lake House Murder

"I'm glad you weren't wearing your scarf last night." John lazily pulled more of the posh blue fabric over himself.

"Mhm. If I had gone willingly I would have, glad I didn't, would have gone the way of my coat." Sherlock frowned but still didn't open his eyes as he laid on his back next to his fetal position flatmate '_no, boyfriend now._' He smiled.

"Why do you wear it so much?"

"It keeps my neck warm and I look good in cool toned colors." His voice was monotone.

John opened one eye lazily, "But you only have the one scarf and looks rather old."

"Why would I need more then one scarf? Doesn't this one do the job?"

John sighed, '_of course. Sherlock doesn't do sentiment after all.'_ "Well I'm getting you a new one then, this one's really old now."

"This one is plenty fine enough, I don't need a new one."

John opened both eyes and rolled over until he was pressed against Sherlock's side. "You like this scarf." He elongated the sentence for emphasis.

"It's an inanimate object, I neither like nor dislike it." Sherlock was cut off before he was able to say anymore by John's lips crashing against his own.

"So you wouldn't mind if I got ride of the skull-" John's voice was breathy as he leaned his head against Sherlock's pale forehead, knowing he had caught Sherlock in a lie.

"Mr. Skull is not an inanimate object!" Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "It's not his fault he's no longer alive. Makes him more tolerable in fact…"

There was a firm knock at the door, both men looked towards it. John shrugged, there wasn't much they could do until Lestrade woke up. The knocking persisted and eventually a very rumpled D.I. sleepily thumped about the flat. He wore loose fitting sweat pants and a tight white undershirt as he opened the door and leaned against the frame to keep from falling back asleep.

"Mhm?" He wasn't up to speaking coherent words just yet and his vision was still slightly blurry. He blinked his vision back quickly though when he realized who had knocked. "Oh- Sorry, wasn't expecting you…" he tried to clear his throat and suddenly regretted not getting dressed before answering the door.

Mycroft was dressed as impeccable as always and was holding a take away bag from a high-end bakery, he was clearly not expecting to see Lestrade in such a state. A raised an eyebrow before lifting up the bag, "Thought you might like something edible- impossible to know the state of the food in this flat."

_'Mycroft brought food? Mycroft brought me food? Personally? Not sending an assistant?' _"There' was really no need… but thank you."

"Also came to check on the state of my brother." There was a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

"Of course, come in, he's just over on the table."

Sherlock sank into the scarf more and pulled some of it over himself in a futile attempt to hide. John rolled his eyes and let out a small yelp as the detective grabbed his arm and tried to pull him under the scarf with him.

"Let go! It's not like he's not going to check here anyway!"

"When will you grow up Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed and approached the table, lifting the scarf up to reveal a pouting detective and annoyed John.

Lestrade put the baker bag on the table, "I'll just go change…" he noticed John eyeing the bag tentatively and brought a croissant before walking away.

* * *

"Bloody hell, he has to come over here first thing in the morning dressed to the nine's of course." Lestrade had only brought a few things to the flat, not sure how long he would be staying there. He dressed quickly and unplugged his phone from it's charger noting he had a text.

Come to Parker Street 542 as soon as possible, homicide, possibly another of those serial killings. SD

"Shit… right." He put the phone in his pocket and considered what to do. He really did need Sherlock for this case.

* * *

"I'm not going and that's final!" Sherlock stood with a straightened posture and his arms crossed, his usual intimidation tactic not working in the least.

"I can assure you that Mummy will not care that you've gone and shrank yourself, you are coming to her birthday and that's final. You only have to see her, no one else."

"She will hardly miss me, just tell her I'm busy!"

Mycroft brought his hands to his temples and tried to massage them "I had to tell her that last year when you had the hair incident. I swear you plan horribly failed experiments to get out of things."

"You could not logically expect me to go after that… it was pink Mycroft! And I should hardly think I did this just to avoid Mummy."

"You may bring John if you like, I'm sure she would love to meet him."

John blushed furiously. He hadn't even thought that one day he would meet the rest of Sherlock's family and the realization that he would likely still be five inches tall only made his anxiety worse. "Maybe it's not a good idea… you don't want to startle her or make worry after all…"

Mycroft smiled sarcastically, "I assure you she will be more likely thrilled then worried."

Lestrade come back in wearing his usual work attire, "Crime scene, possibly another serial victim. Er, I sort of need you on this one Sherlock."

"He's hardly in any condition to go out Gregory." Mycroft continued to stair down his brother.

"Well I can't solve this damn thing without him, so whatever fight you two are havin' you can just settle it later." His tone caught the older Holmes brother off guard.

* * *

The house was relatively large and had a prime location on a lake. Sherlock was grateful that Lestrade's coat pocket was much lower then his own, it allowed him to poke his head out more often without the risk of being caught.

"What's it look like?"

"You would just look out and see for yourself." The house was clearly torn apart in what was likely a rage but the jerky movement of the coat as Lestrade walked made it impossible to focus on anything.

John cleared his throat in a loud rude manner; Sherlock dipped back down in the pocket realizing it took stepping on his own toes to look outside. John couldn't reach the top.

He bit back an amused smile, "Sorry. I could give you a boost if you like."

John only pouted more, "I don't need a boost."

Sherlock stepped closer to him and slid his arms around John's waist. "We're in this together remember?"

John warmed at the touch and wanted to sink into it, "Why do you still have to be taller then me?"

Sherlock dipped his head into the crook of John's neck, taking in his scent. "Because you're meant to be smaller."

The doctor only snorted in response.

"If you were any taller we never would have met."

"Not sure how you figure that exactly." He felt a light kiss on his bad shoulder.

"Any taller and that bullet would have hit you in the heart."

John stilled, he knew Sherlock was actually right.

"Any shorter and it would have missed you entirely and you wouldn't have been in London looking for a flat share. So you're the perfect height." He could feel his soldier snuggling deeper into the embrace.

* * *

"Where's the freak today? Off shaggin his boyfriend?" Donovan drawled out.

"Just go investigate the damn scene Sally." Lestrade stepped closer to the body and looked around to make sure no one was watching. "Alright, I need your help now." He whispered.

Sherlock's hold on John faltered when he heard what Sally said. John's expression fell, _'so he really doesn't want that.'_

Hands sliding away, the detective planted one more kiss on his doctor before lifting himself out of the pocket. "I need to be closer."

Lestrade bit his lower lip but decided he just had to risk it. He palmed Sherlock, still checking that no one was watching, _his team really was incompetent_, and lifted him closer to the body.

"Fit's the MO, short, blond, attractive."

"Lesbian based on the art in the house."

Sherlock crinkled his nose, "What do mean?"

"It was… well, graphic. Trust me on that one."

"Don't give John more reason to want out for a look about." He smiled before returning his attention back to the corpse. "This one is different. The past victims have all died by poison, minimal effort was put into the act it's self. This one… "

Lestrade cleared his throat a bit, "Tortured."

"Yes… it should seem so. The victim was viciously pulled by her hair, lacerations on her face and arms."

"So not from the same killer then or?"

"This is definitely the same killer, just more ambitious. Could be because the victim fought back first, or maybe the killer is taking things up a notch. It's not enough to just kill them now. The next victim will be in worse shape."

Lestrade thought of their previous theory that this was all somehow connected to Harry. The thought was nerve-racking.

"Sir?"

Lestrade quickly stuffed Sherlock back in his pocket trying to muffle his complaints and stood from his crouched position.

"There's a dead cat out back, looks like it was stabbed. Think it's connected?"

The D.I. sighed, "Yea, I guess I should go look at it."

* * *

Sherlock peeked outside the pocket, "Why the hell is he looking at a dead cat? That's hardly important, likely just killed '_in the heat of the moment'_ as they say. "

"Tell me you at least know what that means?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Of course I do John. People are so simple minded that they do idiotic things and then have the audacity to claim they couldn't control their actions."

John smirked, "And you're claiming you've never once done something purely in the moment?"

"Of course not, I use my brain." Sherlock stood back on the tips of his toes against the pocket seam to look out, he could see the lake just a few feet away and… something else… Lestrade was just standing outside discussing the crime scene with someone on the police force, he was mere inches from an outdoor table and chairs. "John, lift me up a bit?"

John rolled his eyes but did his best to raise Sherlock higher, who in turn grabbed onto the seat cushion of the chair and climbed out.

"What are you doing?!" John bit his lower lip nervously, he didn't want either of them to be seen after all.

Sherlock stretched his arm out to help John onto the chair as well, "There's something I need to get a better look at."

"What do we do if Lestrade can't find us?" He was already following the mad genius down the chair leg.

"We wont be long." He mostly against the rock wall separating the property from the next and drawing closer to the lake.

There was a small writing pad sealed in a plastic bag floating in the water, it was too far for them to hope to reach. Sherlock found a hole in the stone wall he ducked through, John faithfully in tow. The neighboring house had lighter colors and a flood of children's toys. A young boy sat by the edge of the water holding a remote control and giggled. A voice seemed to boom from the house- that was one thing neither of the miniature men thought they could get over, how much louder sounds seemed to be now. The boy looked up, promptly set the control down and ran inside the house. They waited for a moment but when it appeared the boy wasn't coming back anytime soon they approached the edge of the water.

The water was unusually high for the depth of the dock. John eyed the remote control wondering what it went to.

"This is perfect!" the detective beamed catching John's attention.

An rc boat sat bobbing up and down in the water. John approached the control and lightly pushed a lever, the boat moved, stopping only when John let go of the lever.

"Very good, not bring it closer to the edge."

"You can't be serious…"

"That notebook could be an important clue."


	19. Captain Holmes

Chapter 19

Captain Holmes

It was a small leap into the boat for John and Sherlock followed by pushing the remote in first and then dropping off the dock with a small thud on the boat sending it into a light rocking.

Looking up to see the black flag with a grinning skull on it John remembered back to the day Mycroft asked him what they could deduce about Sherlock's heart- which as it turned out was quite a lot- but also that while having the mind of a philosopher or a scientist, as a child Sherlock had wanted to be a pirate.

He smiled and turned to Sherlock with a salute, "Where to captain?"

Sherlock had already taken in the sight of the boat and it's painfully obvious pirate theme, he bit back a smile at the way John addressed him. "Don't be so childish, just get us close to that notebook."

John wouldn't give up so easily, he rounded the controls, "Aye Captain Holmes." The boat went full speed ahead.

"You've been talking to my brother I see…" he mumbled irritably.

* * *

Lestrade excused himself from the police officer taking up his time, there wasn't exactly an abundance of clues at the scene, though it was strange that it appeared to be the first murder that took place inside a house, did it mea this one was directly targeted unlike the previews victims believed to chosen at random for their appearance and orientation? Then again Lestrade wasn't too sure how easy it was to find a young attractive blond that was also a lesbian- not that type of person he had tried looking for before.

If Sherlock was right- which of course he was Lestrade knew- the killer really had picked their game up this time. The woman wasn't just killed, she was beaten fiercely. The D.I. bit his bottom lip, in cases like these he knew the killer only got more violent as the crimes went on. He needed to stop this guy, and fast.

"Any plan to find this creep?" he whispered towards his pocket but got no reply. "Eh, you two making out in there? I'm trying to solve this damn thing…. Sherlock?" Lestrade checked his pocket to find it was empty. "Shit…"

The D.I. retraced his steps, the last place he was sure that he had seen them was when he was looking at that damn cat- as if it was important. Sure, it did count as animal cruelty, but that was hardly his division. "Damn it you two, you better be around here somewhere." He knelt down by the chair and table and searched the perimeter.

"Detective Inspector? Is everything alright?"

Greg jumped and hit his head on the glass table. He didn't break it but the pain was instantaneous. "Damn it Sally, what do you want?"

"Was wondering when we call the scene closed, we collected everything we could. Er, are you looking for something?"

"Oh, right, yea… lost a contact lens." He cleared his throat. "Well if it's all finished up you can tell everyone to leave, post some officers as guards for the time being. I'll just be a moment."

Sally cocked her head to the side. "Need help?" She shifted her weight slightly.

"No, I'm fine. I'll just meet you back at the station."

She nodded and walked briskly off towards the water.

"Wait!" he called out before he knew any better, Sally instantly stopped and looked at him expectantly. "Er- watch where you step?" '_Great, now I sound like a nutter.'_

"Yea, sure." She blinked at him in confusion but continued on.

The water had a murky greenish tint to it, the occasional leaf floating by. The small water breaks were just loud enough to muffle a small buzzing sound, but it was still just audible. Four meters away rocking up and down on the waves was a small remote controlled boat. She glanced around, all the other officers had already left this area of the house, only a small handful remained inside. The motor stopped and the boat just swayed lightly in the water near some debris. Donovan narrowed her eyes, it was a plastic bag by the looks of it, something inside weighed it down slightly, but there was still enough air in the bag to keep it afloat. _Odd._

"Lestrade…. I think you might want to see this."

Only half paying attention, Lestrade stopped his search momentarily and stood, seeing the boat right away.

"That bag… there might be something in it, I'll go fetch a net-"

"Why is there a boat next to- Oh no." he silently prayed to himself that the miniature idiotic duo was not nearly that stupid. "Go get a net and an evidence bag." _'and please let that distract you long enough.'_

Every few meters a fish flopped up in the water in there usual mating ritual that time of season. Sally dutifully began looking around for a net and Greg stepped to the edge of the dock. "Get back over here!" he tried to mask his voice with his hand, but it seemed it was too soft for them to hear.

A fish flopped up from the water dangerously close to the boat, sending it rocking fiercely. John grabbed onto the sail pole as Sherlock slipped on the floor boards and hit the lip of the boat.

"Hang on!" thinking fast, John tried undoing the string of the sails so he could pass it down to Sherlock, he wasn't fast enough.

A second fish flopped against the underside of the boat flipping it upside down in the lake.

Sally obliviously strolled back "There's no net, but I got a bag, maybe we could just find a- Greg?!"

Lestrade ripped his over coat off and plunged into the lake, he knew from a case over a year ago that Sherlock couldn't swim- and even if he or John could, there chances of making it back to land were rather limited give their size and the height of the lake's small wakes compared to them. Of course searching for two five inch people in a murky lake was only matched by that ridiculous cliché' about a needle and a haystack.

Greg could see the black outline of the small boat just above him, he almost dismissed the small form next to him as an over sized minnow. He cupped his hands around it and surfaced.

Sputtering water out Sherlock immediately sat up, drenched, in Lestrade's hands. "John! Find John!" he coughed painfully.

He couldn't dive back into the water while holding Sherlock and there was no where to put him.

"The boat! Flip the boat!"

Lestrade unceremoniously shifted Sherlock from both to just one hand and with his free one un-capsized the RC boat. John was clutching to the cheaply made sails gasping for breath.

"Sherlock! Go find Sherlock!"

"I already got him." He plopped the soaking wet and highly disgruntled detective into the boat. "You two are the most irresponsible idiots-" he had prepared for a full-fledged scolding for risking their lives in such stupid way but stopped.

Sherlock grabbed John the second he could and held him close, "I thought I lost you."

John had to stand on his toes to reach those cupid bow lips and force himself on them, which was always worth it. "I'm not going anywhere love."

The scolding could definitely wait.

Lestrade placed that damned plastic bag inside the boat and swam back to the dock with it. He placed it on the surface before pulling himself up, only then remembering how horrid a feeling it was to wear soaked through clothes.

"Lestrade, what on earth where you thinking? We could have just found a-" she peered inside the boat the D.I. had brought, "why did you-" there were two familiar faces looking up awkwardly at her. She would never remember the part where she passed out.

* * *

"Why do we have to talk to her? She's already seen us, isn't that bad enough?" Sherlock paced across the glass table by the dock.

"John, can you just explain to him why it's not ok to scared the life out of someone?"

John crossed his arms in his sitting position as he watched Sherlock pace, "I dunno Greg, I rather we didn't have to confront her too."

"Well you both have to, so deal with it."

Sally stirred from her spot on an outdoor reclining chair.

"Stay there, I blood well mean it." Lestrade stood to check on his coworker, "You alright?"

Sally slowly sat up, "That wasn't… I mean… did I really see…?"

Lestrade took her arm and helped her stand. "Yes, you really just saw Sherlock and John."

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked in Sally's direction. When she saw them both again she felt as though she could easily faint again too, but she managed to keep her cool. There was a pregnant pause as she just looked at them, "How?"

* * *

Almost drowning and nearly losing your boyfriend in the process was apparently one of the very rare instances in which Sherlock will call it an early day and go home. He found he couldn't take his hands off John on the way back. He ignored that his own hair was irritatingly curlier when wet due to the newly processed information that a soaked John Watson was in fact, mesmerizing.

Lestrade truly did not get enough credit for staying quiet in the taxi cab back to 221B while having to listen to the soft protests of "Not in his pocket, wait till we're home," and the worst, "Let him hear."

* * *

Greg stepped in the doorway with a chuckle, "You two wont like this." He dropped his hand in his pocket and waited till he felt both men sitting in his palm and brought them out.

Sherlock assessed the real estate thoughtfully.

"No. Absolutely not! I am not going inside that thing!" John shot an accusing finger at the offending dollhouse perched on the desk table.

Lestrade set them on the table next to it, "Mycroft's doing I take it."

Sherlock began walking the perimeter; John refused to go near it. "Lock, get back here this instant! You are not going inside!"

"Spacious."

"I don't give a damn how big it is, I'm not a bloody doll and the last time I was near one of these things I was nearly killed a dozen times over."

Lestrade shook his head, it was strange already getting use to their small antics. "Gonna go put on something dryer then this." He walked out.

"But John, you were just complaining about privacy."

"You were snogging me senseless in another man's pocket, I do have standards. But this! Sherlock, I don't want this. I don't want to live like this."

Sherlock's expression dropped and he brought John closer to him, "I know. I don't either." He placed a chaste kiss on his doctor's forehead. "It's not like… the last one. It's safe, it's just until we're back to normal."

John looked up into those light sea foam green eyes, "We're in this together then?"

"It will always be you and me from now on."

There was strong knock from the door.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Mycroft, probably come to gloat over his '_clever idea'_."

The door creaked open, there was hesitation in the steps. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, _not Mycroft then._

"John?" The light voice didn't match the loud knocking, John tensed immediately. Maria stepped in and noticed the large dollhouse right away, a smile curling up on her mouth. "John? Are you… in there?" She cautiously stepped closer until she could see him standing in front, her smile widened. "I've missed you John, I know it was probably hard to call me." She eyed Sherlock with a look spewing of venom, but then her smile quickly returned. "You too now? Well, I suppose that isn't too bad."

Lestrade quietly stepped into the kitchen wearing fresh clothes, watching as a strange woman entered from afar.

"You really are so very precious like this." She dropped her hands down on either side of John in an attempt to scoop him up but he managed to step out of it. Maria's smile fell. "John, I forgive you, we can be together again."

"The hell are you talking about? Maria- please, just leave."

"He's trying to trick you John, he's a sociopath! You know he can't possibly care about you, not really. I can take you to my place, take care of you. It will be perfect, you'll be my little doll."

John's face went red with rage, "Get out of here Maria! I don't love you and I don't want to see you again! Sherlock and I love each other and you're just going to have to get over it!"

Mary pressed her lips into a thin line, "He can't love you, he has no feelings. John, it's ok, I know you two haven't done anything yet, we can still be together."

"Done anything yet?" Sherlock repeated Maria's words confused.

"Naïve too." She tried to scoop John up again, "It's a sin to be with him, I'm trying to help you, why can't you see that?" When John dodged her hands again she got fed up and grabbed him, clenching her fist around his small form. "Stay still! I don't want to have to hurt you John, this is for your own good!"

"Put him down!" Lestrade clenched his teeth tightly as he rounded the corner, "or I swear to god I'll end you!"

John could feel the hand squeeze around him, his arms pinned to his body as his torso was slowly crushed. "Maria! You're crushing me!" he barely managed to gasp out.

Maria dropped her attention from John for a moment, "Oh John! I didn't mean to!" She loosened her grasp slightly but still held him firm. John bit down on her thumb as hard as he could. She let out a quick yelp before realizing she had dropped him.


	20. It's Just Like Kissing

I love Sherlock, I love John, I love this story that I have worked so very hard on and I absolutely love each and every person who has read this. Thank you so much. So it pains me to say, not all of you will like this chapter. I asked several chapters back what you guys thought of smut, I debated the idea back and forth, but I decided it really does suit this story. I mean… it kinda has a lot to do with orientation after all…

So here you go, the much awaited for,

**Warning: This chapter contains sexual themes. **(or just skip till after the first chapter break.)

I apologize to those who didn't want smut. Actually, I hate to call it smut, call me a romantic but it's more like 'love making' to me. (Not that there's anything wrong with gratuitous sex.)

**Note: I have just updated all chapters, I am now using the metric system- meaning John is 12 centimeters now instead of 5 inches. Also, Mary is now Maria to prevent confusion with Mary Morstan.

* * *

Chapter 20

It's just like kissing

John woke with a horrible head ache, he tossed to his side and brought his blanket up. 'Hold on…'

He dared a peek, he was on a bed, a soft comfortable bed that he actually fit on. "It was a dream… it was all a dream!" he smiled, "Well of course it was a dream, it's impossible to shrink someone." He felt the weight shift on the mattress next to him. "It was all a dream…" his smile quickly faded as his face filled with a longing sadness. He didn't want to look to see who was in bed next to him. Maybe none what he thought had happened was real, but the feelings were. The way he felt about Sherlock was, but if it was just a dream… then he surely wasn't the one next to him now.

"John? Feeling better?" the baritone voice seized him at one.

A tingling slipped down his spine and he turned to face those posh black curls on that impossibly marble like body next to him… in bed. _In bed next to him_. "Sh-Sherlock?!"

"Mhm?"

"What are you doing in my bed? Wait... the last few days…" John took in his surroundings. It was an ordinary bedroom though it lacked furnishings, but he didn't recognize it. "Where are we… the dollhouse. Of course." John's body relaxed, so it wasn't a dream. For a moment he dropped his gaze. '_Five inches…'_ A light kiss was pressed to his cheek and his smile returned. '_Definitely worth it.'_

He met Sherlock's lips with his own. "Better now." He moaned in his detective's mouth. He was soon straddling him, kisses deepening.

"You were concussed." Sherlock brought his hands up John's waist inside his shirt, it felt electric to John who ran his fingers into the taller man's hair. "Very lucky." He spoke between kisses, "Fell on a pile of newspapers, broke your fall." He pulled back briefly to look at John's face, "Thought I lost you twice in one day." Pale hands caressed the doctor's cheeks.

"Already told you I'm not going anywhere." He smiled into their next kiss. But as John's hands wandered down Sherlock's torso he could feel the detective's body go rigid. He immediately pulled his hands away. "Sorry… too much?"

Sherlock bit his lower lip and sat up, John pulling back off him. "I…" he didn't finish his thought and instead looked away.

"It's ok." John kissed Sherlock's kneecap through his pants, hands lightly cupping his leg.

"No, it's not!" he turned back quickly and closed their momentary distance. "Everything she said John, it was wrong. I do love you. I love you so much." His hands were on John's neck before he knew it, "I… I want you John."

"Shh, it's ok Lock, I'm here."

"No… I mean… I want you. Physically."

John's pupil's dilated and smile twitched, "You've a funny way of showin it."

Sherlock pressed closer and began landing chaste kisses on John's neck, slowly becoming light sucking motions. "Sorry."

John stroked his boyfriend's back for a moment till he brought it up to those black curls, holding his head against his neck gently until pulling back- which he really didn't want to do but knew he had to. "Don't say that, don't be sorry. You've never done anything like this before have you?"

Sherlock's face went a light shade of pink. "I…" his thoughts trailed off again.

"You don't know what your doing." John had a certain fondness in his voice.

"I do too!" the detective huffed back in annoyance.

"It's alright." His voice remained soft and he pushed Sherlock backwards against the miniatures pillows. "I have you." He repositioned himself into their previous straddling position. "You don't need to know anything, not right away." He could see the desire in Sherlock's eyes, but also the fear. "It's just like kissing. You like kissing?" Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

John met his lips with a feather light kiss, then dropped to the pale neck continuing his light kissing, then began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt and kissing his chest. "Do you want this Lock?"

"Yes." It was more of a gasp then anything else.

John kissed his way down Sherlock's body, hands gently massaging his sides. It took a certain amount of talent to undo pants without the wearer being distracted by it, he landed a kiss on the pale hip bone. How anyone thought something like this was a '_sin'_ was beyond him. He kissed the soft skin in the place several more times.

"John Stop! You're tickling me!" his legs uncontrollably shot up around his seducer.

John grabbed the legs firmly, but not forcefully, bending down into them and straightening them out. He kissed just above the pants line as he pulled the trousers off, smiling quickly at Sherlock's moan. He could see Sherlock's wanton form inches away from his lips. John pressed against him, eliciting a low moan of pleasure he delighted in.

John had lied. This was nothing like kissing, it was much, much better.

Sherlock couldn't help it, he was still nervous as he felt John's fingers hook under the band of his boxers and pull them down, freeing himself in the process.

"John" the legs came back up around him, pulling him closer. John ghosted his hands up those beautiful thighs and placed a painfully light kiss on Sherlock's cock.

"Jawwn, please!"

As much as he wanted to continue to tease his boyfriend, John gave in, taking Sherlock into his mouth, relishing in the plethora of sounds he made. Holding his hips down to lessen thrusts, John glanced up the stunningly white form and caught Sherlock's pale eyes watching him, pupils dilated fully, black curls pressed to his face from sweat. Light tremors shot down his legs, shaking them lightly against John, who tightened his grip as he felt them. John was almost painfully hard, he didn't care, there would be time for that later. This wasn't his moment, he told himself, this was Sherlock's.

The tremor's in Sherlock's legs increased, "John I- I'm-… " his words turned into an unintelligible whimper and John knew he was the only one that could do this to that mad genius. John loved how inexperienced Sherlock was, loved those beautiful sounds meant for him, his uncontrolled vigor. He came quicker then most, John loved that too, not letting go until he was sure his love was sated. John cleaned up the last remains with tongue, ending in another kiss on Sherlock's tip, then pulled himself up to meet his face.

"Nothing like kissing." Sherlock was fully spent as he wrapped his arms around John and drifted off from the afterglow.

John barely registered the heavy steps leaving the flat.

* * *

Sherlock had only just come back to the waking world, limbs wrapped even tighter around his John when he heard a knocking. He scowled, this was their moment and someone was at their door trying to take it away.

"Oh shush." John kissed the brim of his scowling detective's nose.

"Gregory?" there was something off in Mycroft's voice neither men could read.

John threw a blanket over his mostly naked boyfriend and went to the window. "Went out, about an hour ago."

Mycroft held his umbrella firmly and cautiously approached the dollhouse. He was slightly surprised to find John had already accepted moving into it, but then there was his very rumpled hair and clothes to take in. His eyes softened, but his overall form remained stiff. "Lestrade's phone is off…" he had a hard time looking John in the eyes. "Scotland Yard has been looking for him."

This was the third morning in a row that Mycroft had come over, John was beyond suspicious that the reason was more to do with a certain Detective Inspector rather then his brother, but somehow this didn't feel right, he wasn't here on a social visit. "Could be at Speedy's- there's not much food here and it's just downstairs." He could hear Sherlock dressing behind him.

"John…" Mycroft started but when he saw his little brother come up behind him, shirt undone and hair a mess he stopped, he was second best at deductions to only one, he could easily see every event that had transpired between them and for once, he really didn't want to spoil his brother's or John's moment.

But one look from Sherlock and he knew something was wrong, "Mycroft, what's happened?"

"Harriet has gone missing."

John didn't feel it as his legs went out, or Sherlock holding him up. "Harry…."

* * *

"It's been a while Greg."

"Yea, it has." Lestrade forked the food around on his place, unable to eat.

"You don't have to keep living in that hotel you know. It must be adding up." Grace Lestrade sipped daintily at her Mojito, watching her ex husband's expression carefully.

"Moved actually." He tried hard to keep his tone even.

Grace cocked an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Yea, it's a flat share." '_More like live in servant to little people.'_

"Who with?" Grace's voice had a hint of jealousy in it.

"Why did you want to meet up?" he didn't notice the well dressed man carrying an umbrella walk in looking for him.

"I just wanted to check up on you."

"Bit sudden."

"You still came though." Grace smiled in a manner she thought was pleasant, but had a hint of something else in it, Greg didn't miss it.

Greg took a bit of his eggs if only to give a moment to think. He didn't want this, he really didn't need this woman back in his life. "Listen, I-" a small lie never hurt anyone. "There's somebody else."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "Oh?"

"Yea. It's not official really, but I've moved on. I'm happy now."

"And just who is this mystery person?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Is that who you moved in with? Some hussy?"

Having a 'minor position in the government' affords Mycroft something his little brother doesn't have, discretion. He was better at hiding it of course, but in private, and especially if he was already having an off day, Mycroft could be every bit as socially awkward as his brother often was, and to be fair, it was of great importance to find the D.I. and get him back to Scotland Yard.

"Ah Gregory, your phone has been off and-"

"Mycroft!" he nearly jumped out of his seat from the surprise. "It's sort of off for a reason…" his eyes shifted back to a steaming mad Grace.

"Him!?"

"Hm? What? Oh! No! I didn't mean-" his eyes grew wide with the realization of what he was being accused of.

"Oh please! It's written all over you!" She stood, now making an absolute scene of the matter. "No one calls you '_Gregory_'," she mimicked Mycroft's voice. "I should have figured you for a queer."

He had been red with embarrassment that not only was his ex really making a scene about a false relationship between him and the British Government, but right in front of the man at that, until of course that last word. "Hey, wait just a minute! What the hell is wrong with that?" He remembered Mary's cutting words the night before as she said what Sherlock and John were doing was a 'sin.'

"Just that you must be if you weren't satisfied with this." She referred to herself.

Lestrade clenched his fists and rose from the table as well, '_well to hell if people stair.'_ "Oh, so I must be gay if I don't want to stick around as you cheat on me? Is that it?"

Grace crinkled her nose, she wasn't about to lose this, "You could have at least found a half decent looking man." She eyed Mycroft, assessing him.

"We're not-" Mycroft began to protest.

"You will never satisfy my Greg. You are far too fat, old, and your hair… he can do far better then you."

That was it, Greg snapped. He grabbed Grace's Mojito and splashed it directly in her face. False accusations or not, she wasn't about to get away with insulting Mycroft. Seeing the shock on her face was all worth it.

"You're too old for me anyway" she shot a look at Greg's graying hair and spun on her heels to leave. "I hope you're both happy!" the words were dripping with venom.

It was strange, Lestrade felt like laughing, but then he remembered he was in a restaurant and everyone was likely staring at him and Mycroft now, but as he caught the tail end of Grace's dramatic exit, including slamming the restaurants door, he heard something wholly unexpected.

Applause.

He dared a look around, and realized he and Mycroft were the oldest people there, everyone else was significantly younger, late twenties, some even just teens. Applauding.

"No one can tell you who to love!" a young girl called out.

Mycroft let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, "Baker Street."

* * *

A/N: I dunno what happened… I have a plot outline I'm following and then the first "small scene" just took over.

:'D This was my first smut ever guys. So even if it isn't the best, I'm just so proud of it.

and fucking awesome fun fact! Apparently London's gay pride parade starts on Baker Street! 8D omg guyz… it's like it was meant to be! (Mrs. Hudson called it, all sorts around there ^^ )


	21. A Bigger Problem

So many notes on this chapter!

Mary is now 'Maria' to prevent confusion with Mary Morstan- I had a few complaints, sorry, I hope this isn't confusing. I feel really bad about this one.

I am converting everything to the metric system since they are in England after all… (My silly American-ness is showing)

Harriet is spelled with one t, not two… whoops.

I'm sorry chapters have been later and later- I have been very busy with school.

Holy hell… this whole fic takes place in just a few days…

This chapter will have some violence as well as MorMor (Moriarty x Moran)

* * *

Chapter 21

A Bigger Problem

John frantically pushes the large call button over and over and the phone propped against the doll house wall. It's no use. Harry doesn't pick up and that same irritating voice mail message begins repeat before he hangs up.

"This is Harry, I'm away at the moment but I'll be sure to call you back as soon as I can." Followed by a loud beep.

John continues to call her until his arm is tired from reaching so high on the massive phone. He wants to push it over on it's side in defeat but he doesn't want to see where his sister's name is still engraved on the back from when it was hers.

Sherlock gently takes him by the waist and eases him down on the floor, back braced against the tiny bed frame. "Shhh." He wraps his arms around the smaller man and rubs him softly, it's a calming technique he'd seen done many times but had no practicality for until now.

John twists around in Sherlock's lap until his face is against the crook of the taller man's neck, he can feel it dampening from his own eyes.

"We'll fine her John."

He doesn't want to respond to that, he knows they'll find her, but he also knows that it will probably be her cold body by then.

* * *

Lestrade and Mycroft gave Grace a good head start before Lestrade put money on the table hoping it was close to the right amount and then left quickly.

"Erm, really sorry about that… That was Grace, my uh, ex wife."

Mycroft nodded, pausing in his quick pacing out of the restaurant away from that much too awkward of a situation only to unlock the door of 221B.

"She's a bit nutty. Sorry. So, you were looking for me?"

It took Mycroft a moment to answer, his thoughts being elsewhere, repeating what Grace had said to him in his mind. "It's Harriet, John's sister… She's gone missing, the two officer's watching her lost track and haven't found a trace of her since last night."

"God… John?"

"Told him first. If your phone hadn't been off I would have found you sooner."

Lestrade let out a breathy sigh, "I don't even know why I agreed to meet up with her. Final papers are still being processed for the divorce, I don't even care if she gets everything. Sorry… that really doesn't matter right now…"

Mycroft bit back a reply, once in the flat they could hear the small choking sobs coming from the dollhouse. They would need Sherlock for this one, and he couldn't leave John like this.

* * *

Harry's flat looked about the same as John and Sherlock checked it out the day before. There would clearly be no evidence here and Harry's disappearance had likely occurred elsewhere.

Lestrade held the cheap coffee cup up as non conspicuously as possible. Hopefully no one would notice the small slit he made for Sherlock to see out of.

Sherlock had wanted desperately to find something to give John even a shred of hope that they would find his sister before it was too late, but his prospects were looking dismal for the flat. They would have to attempt to retrace her footsteps. John sat against the white curved wall of the cup close enough that his leg brushed against Sherlock as he peeked into the room. He would occasionally look up glossy eyed and catch the moments the detective would look down to check on him, no hint of any leads on his expressionless face.

* * *

221B was in a chaotic mess of over turned furniture, ripped apart drawers, and paper strewn across the floor everywhere.

"Shit, you two better take a look at this" Lestrade uncapped the coffee cup and brought the two miniature men out to see the damage.

"Put me on my desk." It took a great deal of added effort at his size, but Sherlock quickly assessed that the papers he had been working on were gone. "This isn't good."

"Lock, what are you looking for?"

"The formula for the chemical compound that shrank us, it's gone."

Lestrade spotted a folded note sticking out of one of the eye sockets of the skull and took it out.

"Dearest Sherlock- hope you don't mind I borrowed it, I can think of so many fun possibilities." Lestrade cringed as he read it out loud.

"Moriarty." His face was stone cold.

John for once had more important things to think about then being a pawn in the mad man's game.

"The other girls- they didn't go missing first- they were killed instantly."

John looked at him, not sure of the connection to the break in.

"Harry is too important to kill right away, she went missing to gain our attention. That means she's likely still alive. But why now? John- think! If no one has seen you in several days then there's no reason for things to have changed if the killer is goading us, so it must be someone aware of our situation."

"Moriarty has Harry then?!"

"It's the only logical conclusion."

* * *

Harry say unconscious tied to a chair, her head and shoulder's leaning forward awkwardly. The pounding in her head became too much, her eyes fluttered open. She was immediately aware of the streaking pain in her left arm and hardening dampness on her skin and clothes- she knew without looking that it was blood. The sickening smell of iron filled her nostrils.

"You're the one that killed my friend then."

There was a light bemused laugh. "She was incidental. Only did it because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry cringed at the light pattering of footsteps approaching on the cements floor. She could see now that the floor beneath her was stained red. She could couldn't help it as her breathing became labored and louder, heart rate speeding up.

"Shh, there there now. I wont kill you for a while now."

Feet entered her view, she tried to look up at her captor, face this monster down, but her neck was screaming in pain. She had been hit there when she was knocked out the moment the two officer's looked away.

"Who are you? Why me?"

"It's your own fault. You brought this upon yourself. You corrupted him."

"Him?"

"You and his damned flatmate."

Harry furrowed her eyebrows and bit past the pain to look up. A well dressed woman stood there grinning with a large knife in hand. She looked familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place her at first.

"John never properly introduced us. But I knew what you were when he first mentioned you. Looked you up online after that. Told me everything I needed to know."

Maria drug the tip of the blade softly against Harry's cheek. "I'll be there for him of course. Once he finds your dead tortured body. He'll see how uncaring an emotionless that man is, and he'll come back to me."

"You're crazy." Harry's voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

"Shh, it will all be over soon."

* * *

"No offence boss, but this doesn't seem like the best idea." This earned Sebastian a strong slap across the face, he barely flinched at the contact

"I said drink it, that's an order." Moriarty had a cold and calculating tone with a hint of amusement behind his eyes.

"I can't protect you if I do- you don't know if the reverse chemical even works yet."

"Which is why I need you to be a good pet and drink it now." The mad man brought the vial close to Moran's face. "I have other snipers, just because you're my favorite doesn't mean you're actually better then anyone else."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the statement, "I'm more loyal."

"Which is why I trust you with knowing about this. Now drink it." His hand wrapped around the back of the blond's head holding it in place. "Don't you want me to be in complete control? Wrap my hands around all of you at once?" his hissing voice ghosted across Sebastian's skin.

It was a ploy of course, Moriarty only cares about himself, possibly Sherlock but that was more of an obsession then anything else. Sebastian could feel Moriarty's other hand, still holding the vial, mockingly caress his cheek.

"You'll do it wont you? For me?"

'_No I bloody will not.'_ He wanted to say but pressed his mouth tightly closed knowing the Moriarty would take every chance he could- consent was never too important to him.

Moriarty huffed in annoyance and pressed his mouth firmly against Moran's in attempts of opening it, vial dangerously close to Sebastian's mouth. Refusing to open, Moran shoved Moriarty backwards. Stumbling backwards the liquid in the vial splashed up, a third of the contents entering his mouth.

Sebastian bit his lower lip. "…Boss?"

* * *

A/N: I hope you guys all like this very late chapter. Please read and review.

I apologize for all the late story changes.


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